


Friends don’t kiss.

by bimmykimmy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Awkward Crush, Dating, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Internal Conflict, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Shyness, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23126830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bimmykimmy/pseuds/bimmykimmy
Summary: Or at least, that’s what they’ve been told.A refreshing series of first kisses, to put us all in the mood for spring~Each chapter is a different pairing.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 62
Kudos: 313





	1. Daisuga: Boundary

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my entirely self-indulgent series of oneshots wherein each and every character is ridiculous and dumb and awkward. I promise my writing will seem repetitive--because its basically the same exact thing begin told over and over but with different pairings lol  
> But I hope you can enjoy!

The boundary between friends and _boy_ friends is a tricky one, Sugawara decides this one evening when he and Daichi are curled up together under a blanket, leaning against his bed as they sit on the floor to watch a movie. They’ve had this tradition since forever, and for just as long it’s simply _been_ what they do without second thoughts. They’re best friends, right?

But then something changed. Suga can’t pinpoint when or how or what it was that even triggered it. He’s not entirely dense, however—he knows what it means when he feels like he’s underwater whenever he’s around their team captain. He knows the way his heart skips a beat when he sneaks a shy glance over at Daichi when they change in the club room before practice isn’t something that just _happens_. He knows checking his hair in the mirror quickly before opening the door to let Daichi into his house for movie night is because he wants to look nice for him.

Sugawara’s certain of his feelings.

What he’s _uncertain_ of however, are Daichi’s.

Hence, that pesky boundary conundrum.

Daichi’s short, airy laugh through his nose at a particularly ridiculous part of the movie catches Suga’s attention. He darts his gaze sideways to see the way his strong jawline and sharp profile highlights nicely in the soft blue glow of the TV screen. He’s really matured over the years, much quicker than Sugawara that’s for sure. But perhaps he’s biased—one doesn’t really pay attention to one’s own growth, figurative or literal. Suffice it to say, Sawamura Daichi has grown into quite the stunning young man. The moms at the PTA meetings say so all the time and Suga has naught the nerve to disagree.

As if sensing a stare, Daichi suddenly glances Suga’s way, and Sugawara kicks himself for not being quick enough to look away before he notices. His stomach does an uncomfortable whirl as he tries his very best not to look robotic while reaching over and grabs another small handful of potato chips to munch on. But of course, Daichi doesn’t comment on it. Why would he have reason to? They’re best friends, right? You're allowed to look at your best friend.

The movie continues without any more blunders, despite only one party being aware of the _first_ blunder, until one particularly…intense scene.

Suga’s eyes widen as the main characters get close, speaking in hushed, sultry voices. Then the scene cuts, and they’re writhing in bed together, ravishing each other with moans and gasps that are in no way dampened by the ridiculous background music. Sure, Suga and Daichi have watched plenty of movies together—a variety of ratings to boot. They’d gotten over the awkwardness of a somewhat spicy scene a while back when accidentally watching a director’s cut of a horror film. But something about this particular scene hits Sugawara more than he’s prepared for. The main characters, up until now in the comedy plot line, were depicted as friends; nothing more than snide remarks and the occasional pleasant hug. Apparently, the cinematic universe is also trying to tell Suga something about that aforementioned boundary.

He swallows heavily and can already feel a heat crawl up his neck despite every fiber of his will saying _no, calm down!_ Before he can panic too much, however, he hears Dachi quietly clear his throat beside him. Suga sneaks another peek at his friend, who shifts rather awkwardly and looks downward, eyes unfocused and distant. Before long, he senses Suga’s gaze on him once more, and when he looks this time, Sugawara doesn’t glance away. They hold this pose for quite some time, the lewd noises of the movie filtering over their silence.

“Weird, huh?” Daichi says with a sort of lopsided smile. He sits up a little against the bed side, but holds the soft blanket up to his chin. He looks sort of uncomfortable all things considered. “Didn’t really see them being a couple…or anything…”

“Y-yeah,” Suga agrees with a slight nod of his head before finally has to look away. He’s thankful for that handful of chips now as he lifts a huge one to his teeth and nibbles on it instead of shoving it painfully into his mouth like he normally does. It gives him something to do other than focus on the dreadfully lengthy scene playing out before them on the TV. "Kinda sudden," he mutters.

At last, the scene finally, _finally_ ends and Sugawara is almost certain that it’s the longest sex scene he’s ever witnessed in a so-called “comedy” film. He's shocked at how long he was able to make one potato chip last, too. He can barely contain his sigh of relief when the scene transitions back to the main plot. He doesn’t contain his shiver though, feeling a bit chilly now, and he realizes Daichi has practically stolen the entire blanket at this point. Which, to be fair, is something he does quite often. Suga reaches over silently, grabbing hold of a corner to shift some over for himself.

But he can’t.

He tugs again to no avail.

“Dai,” he says. “You’re hoggin’ the blanket.”

Daichi doesn’t answer, only looks forward steadfast at the TV screen which he had so astutely avoided for practically the past five minutes.

“Daichi.”

“I’m cold,” is all he responds with and if Suga doesn’t know any better, which he _shouldn’t_ , he swears Daichi’s face looks a little…off. “Get your own.”

“This _is_ my own,” Suga says incredulously. “It’s my house.”

“Get your own,” Daichi repeats stubbornly which gains an annoyed scoff from Suga. But Sugawara isn’t one for easily giving up. Oh, no, quite the opposite.

He narrows his eyes and reaches over to get a better grasp on the warm quilt, gripping it tightly as he yanks it hard. Daichi, bless him for thinking he had the power to dissuade his best friend, is caught off guard, grip loosened. The blanket slips from his grasp in one smooth motion, static electricity popping and cracking as the fabric brushes along his body. His eyes widen and he scrambles— albeit too late– to snatch the blanket back. "Wait!"

“Mine now!” Suga laughs triumphantly, a light fluttering in his chest as he wraps the blanket around himself like a cape. “No more for y—Uh, dude? You okay?” His playful banter, ready to fire off like normal, is brought to a halt when Daichi suddenly curls up, bringing his knees to his chest, arms hugging them tightly as he hides his face.

“Don’t say a word,” Daichi says resolutely, voice muffled into his knees.

Sugawara doesn’t even think he _can_ say any words right now, judging from the amount of confusion buzzing in his skull like a swarm of angry bees. He lowers the blanket and it pools around his hips like a warm, fuzzy nest. “Okay,” he responds quietly, as any good friend would do.

Moments of awkward silence pass and the movie actually finishes, credits rolling before Daichi lets out a balanced sigh and lifts his head again.

“Welcome back,” Sugawara grins and it only grows wider when Daichi shoots him a glare. He adds, more softly, “Everything okay?” As much as he likes to play around and make fun of his best friend, Suga has duties, you know. They’re close enough to know when so much is too much. And really, they’re honest with each other to a fault. Well, mostly. Sometimes Suga wishes he could tell Daichi the truth…but the fear of ruining everything is far too great. Friend-boyfriend boundary and all that.

“Yeah, it’s just…” Daichi begins but his lips go tight, gaze dropping away to stare at his socked feet, fiddling his big toes one over the other. “I—promise me you won’t laugh?”

Suga quirks an eyebrow but nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Daichi sighs again and unfolds himself, stretching his legs out. Sugawara is confused for a moment. That is, until his eyes promptly drop down, pinning the irrefutable bulge tenting Daichi’s basketball shorts. And it’s nothing to blow your nose at either. It’s way past half-mast, so to speak. He doesn’t know if a canon shoots off somewhere or if his brain quite literally implodes, but needless to say Sugawara is dumbstruck.

“You’re hard.”

“Dude—come one, don’t say it!” Daichi lifts a hand to his forehead, groaning in embarrassment before he runs it through his short cropped hair. He rubs his head furiously a couple times before letting his hand drop limply beside him. He then gestures vaguely at his own dick. “It just happened when...I mean... I don’t know.”

Suga still hasn’t looked away from it; and really, he _can’t_. Because…well, just because! _Look_ at it! They’ve been friends for a long, long time. They’ve talked about all sorts of things. Certainly their conversations have gone to the more personal side sometimes—porn preference, no reason boners during class, or frustrations of not being able to rub one out when family is just so _nosy_. But talking about it is one thing…

“Do you, uh,” Sugawara starts speaking and he forces himself to look away from it, back up to Daichi who stares at him now with a slightly bewildered look. “Need to, like, take care of it or…?”

Daichi’s eyes shine in the filtering light of the credits, widening beyond belief. “What?! No! What the hell, Suga?”

As if through a domino effect, or perhaps his own embarrassment, Sugawara deflects loudly. “W-well! I don’t know, Dai! What do you want from me?!”

“I…n-nothing! I was just—I figured I owed you an explanation,” Daichi’s ears are absolutely red at this point. Suga can tell as much even in the dim light of the room. He’s sure his own cheeks are painted an indisputable pink at this point too.

“Alright, alright.” Sugawara somehow manages to find a semblance of calm as he lifts his hands up in surrender. “Whatever, Dai. It’s fine. It’s just, if you _did_ want something then…I mean, I’m not like grossed out or anything. That’s what friends are for.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

There’s a good solid beat of silence. Daichi narrows his eyes and something about the air in the room shifts. “What do you mean ‘that’s what friends are for’?”

Suga feels ice slither down his spine, hazel eyes widening. “Did…did I say that?”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“…What am I saying that you think I’m saying?”

“What are—no, never mind. This is stupid,” Daichi looks like a slight breeze could knock him out right about now. He clears his throat again and adjusts where he sits, tucking his legs in to sit pretzel style. “Forget it.”

Sugawara stares at him a moment, feeling like he just let something really, really precious slip right through his fingers like grains of sand. He swallows again, laughing sheepishly as he sits more comfortably too, practically shoulder to shoulder with Daichi. “Y-yeah,” he scratches the side of his cheek. “Friends don’t do that stuff, anyway.”

There’s a short pause; curious to say the least, if not a little heavy.

“…Well, they might,” Daichi’s voice is so soft, so unlike himself that Sugawara is quite uncertain if it’s not just his wishful, horny mind conjuring it into fruition. He isn’t left pondering too long, however, as he turns to look at Daichi with pure, unadulterated shock written on his face. Daichi’s ears are still red, not that they had any chance to cool down all this time, and he pouts his lower lip.

Sugawara swallows heavy, heart thrumming like a boxer is going to town on his ribcage, and he glances down between Daichi’s legs again. A whole new wave of _something_ courses through him and it almost has him dizzy. He lifts his hand, cupping it behind his hot, now gross and sweaty neck—so much for being chilly. “Uh, I mean…I could, yeah. But uhm, I don’t know, it’s kinda awkward.”

“Right…” Daichi scoots now, turning as he sits to face Sugawara. “Doing something like that out of the blue is sorta…intense.” They're both reminded of the movie.

“But we could,” Sugawara somehow finds it within himself to look Daichi in the eye, and Daichi looks back. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking when he continues with, “Try kissing first?”

Daichi’s expression goes slack, gaze dropping to Sugawara’s lips which Suga notes with painstaking attentiveness. The light shifts in the room as the DVD finishes its scroll through the credits and goes back to the bright title screen. It covers the room in a soft purple light, casting a new set of shadows on the sharp lines of Daichi’s face.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Suga replies.

And for a moment, Sugawara can’t breathe. He feels Daichi’s warm fingers slip under his chin, tilting it with just the slightest of nudges as he rests his thumb right below his lip. He closes his eyes, hoping, praying that it’s not a dream. And it certainly doesn’t _feel_ like one when those warm lips press against his; salty from snacks, wet as if he’d just licked them. Sugawara sees fireworks behind his eyes and goosebumps rise on his arms and for a short moment, he thinks he finally understands the whole boundary business.

Sugawara lets his hand drop from his neck, lowering it slowly until his fingers find purchase on Daichi’s thick bicep. There’s a moment’s pause and Daichi seems to pull back ever so slightly before he lets out a soft sigh and presses in again, lips on the verge of moving. Suga replies in kind, opening his mouth a little and tilting his head to accommodate the new, slightly languid, slightly awkward movements.

Daichi’s hand slips away from Sugawara’s chin, his other lifting too as he reaches up to either side of Suga’s face. His palms are warm, thumbs rubbing small circles along his cheek bones and temples as he deepens the kiss. The slightly rough pad of his thumb brushes gently over the small, raised beauty mark below Suga’s eye when he suddenly presses harder, a silent question.

Suga more than welcomes it; opening his mouth and letting out a soft, wet, breathy moan when Daichi’s slick tongue pushes in, tasting and writhing with relaxed yet straightforward curiosity. The sensation is nothing like anything he could’ve hoped for, and then some. It's exhilerating, kinda scary, but so, so good. Sugawara doesn’t stop himself from shivering again; his whole body lighting up and the buzzing bees of nerves wreaking havoc in his mind from before have calmed into a soft glow of lightning bugs just beneath his skin.

Daichi’s soft moan is so quiet, a barely there noise of content as they make out for God knows how long. Sugawara’s jaw actually starts to feel a bit sore, tense from overuse, but it’s not like he’s going to stop any time soon. And they don’t, for quite a bit after. They sit face to face, lost in each other, tasting and moaning until they’re caught in a sudden darkness of the TV going into sleep mode.

They don’t stop abruptly, but fade comfortably into stillness. Their swollen, overworked lips part so gently that they make no noise.

And then they’re silent. Daichi presses his forehead to Sugawara’s and they’re both warm, a little breathless.

Suga licks his lips, tasting the somehow lingering bits of salt on them, and opens his eyes slowly; gaze glassy and unfocused but he finds Daichi’s eyes right away and all is cleared. They both lean back to a respectable distance, removing their hands from each other and leaving a whole new kind of cold in their place.

“Uhm,” Sugwara starts, feeling like he should say something. _Anything_. Because that was…

“Nice.” Daichi smirks and nods calmly, like he’d just saw some sick kill on a volleyball YouTube channel.

Sugawara blinks, synapses firing but sputtering out in the process. “…Nice?”

“Uh,” Daichi looks around for a moment, popping his lips in thought before his line of sight fixates with Suga’s once more. “I mean, cool?”

Suga lets out a groan, feeling a tidal wave of embarrassment rush through him with a vengeance. Any semblance of sanity he had gathered beforehand is lost; taken by the wind, never to return again. He topples over, hands covering his explosively warm face as he disappears into the blanket pooled around him. “I knew it. Friends don’t _kiss_.”

“Sure they do,” Daichi replies from above him, leaning over with a quirked eyebrow to where Suga has melted into the blanket nest. Sugawara peers out from behind his slim fingers, just enough to catch Daichi’s liquid coffee eyes, crinkled with his kind as always smile. “But that wasn’t one of those times. Don’t you think?”

Suga stares at him through his finger barrier, narrowing his scrutinizing gaze searching for some kind of trick. When he finds none, his heart does a giddy little leap that makes him feel really, rather good. “I like you, Daichi,” he says without removing his hands. He feels safe there, protected.

Daichi’s eyebrows shoot up but his smile stays all the same. “Me too.”

“And we’re talking about the same kind of ‘like,’ right?” Suga’s eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can see Daichi still staring at him, still smiling.

“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”

“Ugh, finally.” Suga lets out a groan, mostly of relief but somewhat aggravated at himself for worrying for so _damn_ long. Who knew all he had to do was ask! Go figure.

He hears Daichi chuckle and suddenly his warm hand finds his thigh, patting it over the blanket. “Never thought I’d say this but, thank God for no reason boners.”

Sugawara finally removes his hands from his face and shoots an incredulous look up at his best friend.

Or, is it boyfriend?

Well, details details.

“Yeah, what are you, 12?” he jabs with his words and with his hand; fingers like a blade as he stabs Daichi’s side, barely able to reach from where he lies on the ground, but somehow manages. He always manages.

“Ow! Son of a—” Daichi curls over in pain but he’s quick on the recovery, reaching over to grab Suga. Sugawara is crafty too though; a veteran in the ways of roughhousing. He easily thwarts the oncoming attack, entwining his fingers with Daichi’s as they wrestle and push. It isn’t a long match, of course. Sugawara may be swift, but he’s nowhere near an equal match against Sawamura Daichi when it comes to raw strength. His arms give out before long, causing Daichi to drop suddenly on top of him which has Sugawara’s life flashing before his eyes.

When Daichi topples onto him, laughing and grunting, they struggle some more like a pair of restless lion cubs, pushing and shoving, rolling along the floor until Sugawara has Daichi pinned onto the soft carpet. His hands press onto his hard chest, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. He whole body feels light, like he’s floating, and he grins cheekily down at Daichi who stares up at him with parted lips and slightly shocked expression.

“We…” Daichi says a bit breathless, and Sugawara feels an odd tug in his gut when he hears him panting. “We always do this sort of thing.”

“We do, yeah.” Suga sits back on his haunches, but doesn’t release Daichi. He pats his chest, playing it like a drum. It would otherwise be a harmlessly playful act, if it weren’t for the fact that he simply needs to do _something_ to not look at Daichi’s dick again; as horridly curious as he is about its…status. Now is just not the time.

“We’re like way older than 12, though.”

“We sure are.”

“Why the hell did it take us this long to realize it?” Daichi asks now, lifting his head from the carpet to get a better look at Suga’s drumming. “That we’re also _way_ more than best friends?”

Suga shrugs, smiling with a delight he can’t really put into words. He doesn’t try to. He’ll just let it be as it is. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Another shrug. “We hang out all the time and tell each other everything. I know pretty much all there is to know about you. We share food. We have sleep overs. We practically cuddle.”

Daichi’s nods, pursing his lips in agreeable consideration.

“It just seemed sorta natural to me,” Suga admits. After a moment he pauses his hands, fanning his fingers flat against Daichi’s broad chest. “I was afraid though. That if I said something...I’d mess everything up. I didn’t know how you felt, so…”

Daichi suddenly sits up, his hands coming to Sugawara’s to hold them gently. He leans down a bit, lowering himself to look up into Suga’s hazel eyes. “Sorry you had to wait so long for my dumbass to get a clue.”

Suga puffs out a quick laugh at that. “When did you realize it?” he asks, curiosity reaching its peak.

“About 30 minutes ago when we started making out.”

“…A-are you serious?!” Suga’s face goes aflame again and he leans away, hands still held captive by Daichi who laughs heartily at his overblown reaction.

“…No?” Daichi blushes too and his eyes dart to their hands, then back to Suga, then to their hands again. Then back to Suga. “Wait, when did _you_ realize it?”

Sugawara groans and promptly drops his head to Daichi’s shoulder. “Can we just, not talk about this anymore? I’m gonna die of embarrassment. Let’s just make out again.”

“Works for me,” Daichi laughs again as his hand slips around Sugawara to the small of his back, pushing just slightly to encourage him to sit up straight. When they’re eye level once more, he smiles at him—wide and toothy.

“Boyfriends?” Suga asks, a small glint of something unspoken and yearning in his hazel gaze.

Daichi nods curtly, the air of team captain never seems to leave him even in moments like these. “Boyfriends.”

They don’t come out of Sugawara’s room for a very, very, perhaps concerningly, long time that evening. They don’t necessarily reach the intensity of that ridiculously long scene from the film, but where’s the rush? They’ve got plenty of time to figure that out.

For now, Sugawara thinks finally cracking the boundary between friends and _boy_ friends code is enough to call today a win.


	2. Bokuaka: Don't Want That

It’s truly a wonder of this world. It’s baffled the entire class for the past three years, but today is the day they’ll all discover the truth.

“Four…” Konoha counts as he leans forward on his desk, the drink he’d bought at the vending machine long forgotten in his own hand, squeezing it enough so the sweet contents dribbles out.

Bokuto has his tongue between his teeth, eyes squinting as he meticulously sticks the fifth pencil in his hard, gelled hair. When it lodges perfectly, standing on end to finish his pencil crown, he lifts his hands up in triumph. “Boom.” He flashes a toothy grin to his friends.

Sarukui claps his hands in a somewhat pitiful, one-man applause; making polite sounds of awe at his classmate’s oddly satisfying victory. Washio stays silent beside him frowning but even he feels a slight flutter of astonishment in his chest. He has to give it to Bokuto, he’s nothing if not determined in otherwise useless things. At least they all can rest at ease now knowing how many he can neatly fit up there.

“See? I told you I could do it!” Bokuto boasts proudly, puffing his chest and swiping his hand under his tie so it flips audaciously over his shoulder as if it were some kind of gentlemanly cape. “Now bow before your king!”

The small group of boys boos and hollers, happily telling him to piss off in a way only the best of friends can pull off. One of them reaches over and _yoinks_ a pencil from Bokuto’s hair, which starts a childish round of keep away from their team’s affluently emotional ace. Their horseplay goes on like this for practically the entirety of lunch; but they don’t forget to munch down on their assortments of _konibi_ breads and sandwiches as they do so.

Just as the bell chimes in its sing song way, the door to their classroom slides open with a loud bang. Anahori is at the threshold, hands plastered to each side of the door frame with wide eyes and eyebrows way, way up. He looks like he ran all the way up from the first year floor, which is entirely plausible judging from the way he struggles to catch his breath as he swallows down giant gulps of air. A hand comes to his chest while the other lifts and weakly points over his shoulder.

“Th-the window….outside,” he swallows and his lips make a smacking noise in the process. He then takes a moment to recompose himself.

The third years, interests piqued, all stand and make their way over to their younger, fresh teammate. Konoha pats him on the back. “Alright settle down bud. What’s outside? A bear?”

“There’s no bears in this area, idiot.”

“Fine! Then a really big cat?”

"Ohh, kitty!"

Bokuto stays seated, his ever present grin still plastered joyously on his face. He slowly pulls his pencil crown out and sets them down orderly atop his desk. He makes sure each pencil is aligned nicely before he moves onto the next one. He’s not _not_ interested in what his younger teammate has to say, he’s just got more important things to handle. As captain, if its something urgent related to volleyball, of course he’ll spring into action. But for now? Pencils. However, he can’t stay too disinterested when Anahori finally catches his breath and stands up straight.

“Akaashi-san, he’s…he’s in the courtyard! With some girl!”

Konoha, Sarukui, and Washio’s mouths all drop open in utter shock while Bokuto leans into frame—so to speak—eyes wide as he leans on the back legs of his chair. “He’s…what?” His voice barely makes it over the suddenly explosion of ruckus from the rowdy third years. Questions fire off one after another, inquiring context to an extent Anahori is in no way capable of giving. Who is she, is she a 2nd year, what color is the ribbon on her uniform, does she have braids or a pony tail, is she a long skirt or short skirt with tights kind of gal? Is she confessing? Has our sweet, stoic, quiet boy finally sexually awakened?!

“Shut up!” Komi barks now from where he’d been watching tiktoks disinterestedly on his phone. He stands up now and brushes past his teammates with authoritative air, taking up twice the size in personality than he does in physicality. “Don’t be so loud, the teachers are gonna get pissed. You’re all acting like this is some big spectacle or something…sheesh…” He says this as he stomps by them all, heading down the hallway with a cool demeanor.

They all stare with curious eyes, frozen in their positions of excitement. One could almost see the question marks pop over their heads. And just like that, Komi suddenly sprints, taking off like wind beneath his wings, down the hallway and making a sharp turn toward the set of windows that overlook the courtyard.

The rest of the boys grin and snicker, taking off too as they all rush to get a front row view of whatever is about to go down. Anahori is tugged along in the fray and he stumbles along with the group.

Then all is quiet.

And Bokuto sits at his desk, plopping back down onto all four legs of his chair as he lets out a small puff of air. He stares blankly down at his pencils, the last one sitting askew next to its brethren.

It hits him like a bullet train—solid and unexpected.

Akaashi is out in the courtyard with a girl.

It’s so easy to put one and two together. Any fool could see exactly what that is, right? A confession. Young love. Spring is in the air…and all that.

Akaashi being confessed to. It’s…really not that surprising, if he thinks about it. Of course, he doesn’t like thinking about things too hard, because he either winds up spiraling into a stupor or confusing himself even further. But just now, hearing that news, something…weird happened. Something he can’t ignore. Something unlike anything that’s ever happened before. He lifts his hand to his chest, rubbing it absentmindedly and wondering if its heartburn from his yakisoba bread. _That’s gotta be what it is._

Minutes pass and the second chime rings sweetly around their campus. A five minute warning before 5th period begins. Bokuto hasn’t moved an inch; hand frozen over his heart like a renaissance statue. The odd feeling in his chest still won’t go away and he has the sneaking suspicion that it isn’t heartburn at all. _If it’s not that, then what is it?_ It isn’t until he hears Komi’s boisterous laughter, a cackle to rival his own, echo through the hallway getting louder and louder until the group of third years return to the classroom. Their conversations overlap one another, playful banter and lovingly delivered insults—Bokuto can’t make heads or tails of it all as he strains to hear…

Hear what exactly?

The result?

Does he even want to know? 

A part of him screams yes while the other laments no; a sickening whirlpool of conflicting emotions settles heavily in his gut like sludge and it’s _so_ _damn_ _weird_.

“What the hell…” he mumbles to himself, brows furrowing as he narrows his golden eyes. Is he sick? Is he in one of his moods again? But…why?

“Bokuto,” Konoha is the one to pull him from his odd reverie that seemingly sprung from nowhere. Before Bokuto can confuse himself too much by trying to diagnose whatever it is that’s seemingly ailing him, Konoha pulls out his seat next to him and lets out a sigh as he sits. “Don’t forget coach wants us to stop by the teachers’ room to pick up the collection envelopes with Akaashi for the fundraiser before practice today.”

Bokuto glances over at his teammate and friend, eyes distant but wide, and he nods without a single word. Konoha’s brows lift a little as he pillows a hand against his cheek, but he doesn’t say anything, simply blinks and looks forward again just as their teacher walks in, clearing his throat.

\--

The day is a blur after that, as it were. Bokuto typically doesn’t pay _that_ close attention to his classes anyway, so it’s not like it’s anything out of the ordinary. No one notices his odd mood because really, it’s unlike like any of his downtrodden slumps he’s experienced before. He and Konoha make their way to the teacher’s room and as they do, a sudden, slightly unsettling panic begins to creep up his gut and burrow its way into his heart. They round the stairwell past the second floor, just as the one who’s been clouding Bokuto’s mind steps into view as well.

Akaashi’s hand is on the railing, his mouth parted slightly as he lets out a small, “Oh.”

Bokuto immediately feels his spine freeze over. His heart leaps to his throat and his stomach does this weird gut-punch move that could easy topple him.

“Konoha-san,” Akaashi says politely with a nod. Then his eyes shift to Bokuto and for some reason Bokuto really, _really_ does not want that right now. “Bokuto-san. Picking up the envelopes?”

Konoha is the one who answers, when Bokuto the _captain_ doesn’t seem to be capable of doing so. Then the three of them head downstairs together, Bokuto trailing behind not too unlike some kind of soulless zombie. In fact, Konoha has to grab him by the coat sleeve and tug him along when he trails too far behind.

Time skips again, and Bokuto goes through the motions of changing out of his uniform into his practice gear without so much as a single word to anyone. At this point, some of the teammates have noticed. They exchange glances with each other, uncertain of how to handle him this way outside the court. Bokuto doesn’t notice this change in mood either; too busy imploding on himself with each passing moment. He slips on his compression sleeve; nimble fingers picking and adjusting it until it feels most comfortable. He pats it gently and moves on to the next. His inner voice finally has something to say by the time he’s got a leg propped up just outside the gym as he puts on his indoor shoes. Some teammates pass him, jogging in and heading toward the supply closet to get the nets set up and ball carts out and ready.

 _What exactly is your deal today, huh?_ he grumbles inwardly. A small vision of himself appears, as if sitting on his shoulder like some kind of gremlin. He pauses in tying his left shoe; laces in either hand and he feels the softly fraying ends with the pads of his thumbs. _Did you not get enough sleep last night or something? So your best friend was seen with some chick outside during lunch. Boo fricken hoo. What exactly are you so hung up about? Can’t you just be normal about it? That’s what a real best friend would do._

Bokuto narrows his eyes, lip curling in disgust as the tiny version of himself disappears in a puff. There’s another wave of confusion and intense emotion that flood through him in a way he’s never felt before. It’s uncharted territory; sudden and extreme. He can’t even begin to understand what the hell is going on within his silly, convoluted brain. And it’s So. Damn. Weird.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s voice shatters the air like a sledgehammer. Bokuto’s golden eyes widen, staring down at Akaashi’s sneakers as he steps close. He looks up after a short moment’s pause, uncertain of what his expression is doing but he knows it can’t be good. “Are you not feeling well?” Akaashi asks as he looks down at him, eyes sharp and clever as always.

“I’m good,” Bokuto feels himself say it before he can’t think. He quickly looks away, unable to keep eye contact for very long when he lies. He fears the slight warmth starting to envelope his skin; on his face and ears and chest. What the hell is wrong with him?! “Just thinking about practice is all.”

Akaashi’s curt lips turn down a little, the slightest of frowns, and it makes Bokuto’s heart do a weird clench. His eyes crinkle in a glare, just enough to be noticeable—at least, Bokuto notices it because how can he not be staring into them. “If you say so,” is all he says before calmly turning and heading into the gym.

\--

"Ohh, there's the loverboy!" a teammate coos when Akaashi comes into the gym. Across the court, Bokuto stretches, but his movements halter when he hears the team's echoing chorus of hoots and hollers that crescendos up into the high ceiling of the building.

"He's glowing! He's glowing!" another laughs.

"Our icy prince, all grown up," Konoha wipes a fake tear.

"Please warm up now," Akaashi's usual placid voice drowns out all others; effectively shutting them all up despite some lingering, playful pokes at him. Bokuto shifts his arm across his chest, tugging so the muscle warms nice and loose. He narrows his gaze on his shoes, glaring at a scuff mark on the tan floor.

Practice goes on without a hitch despite all odds pointing to the opposite. Bokuto has a slightly off day, of course, but overall his spikes land evenly and he’s able to get a good rhythm going by the end of it. He's uncharacteristically quiet after the exchange of jokes at the beginning, which is cause for alarm in some of the teammates. But when he makes a small noise of triumph when he gets a strong kill, the tension is somewhat lifted. Before everyone can relax, that tension comes pile driving back when Akaashi calls out a compliment to their ace and Bokuto promptly turns around and jogs the other way, lifting his hand to dismissively ask for another toss.

Akaashi freezes then, expression set. Everyone around them is frozen too; a haunting aura seeps in like a dense fog as they all eye each other with mild fear and confusion.

Coach claps his hands at the end, gathering the boys around the managers as they hand out the envelopes and explain their goals for the fundraiser.

“Start with asking family first,” Suzumeda says with a bob of her head. Her high ponytail flicks with the movement and her tight smile stretches across her face. “We’ve _got_ to do better than the baseball team this year.” The threat in her voice is not subtle—she’s always been deceptively passionate about the oddest things.

The entire team straightens their posture, hands slapping to their sides as they obediently, loudly agree in unison. Coach does his normal cool down talk, giving advice and demands alike, and then practice is officially over.

Bokuto usually uses this time to get in more spike practice; often dragging Akaashi by the collar and any others to become his unwilling volunteers. But today, he zombie walks his way out of the gym and to the club room alongside everyone else. He can feel Akaashi’s eyes on him but he avoids it like the plague; you know, like a coward. He hates it, but he really can’t think of any other way to handle…whatever it is that’s going on with him right now. He needs to clear his head. Needs to get home and start the day over fresh tomorrow.

Surely that’ll make everything normal again, right?

The tiny version of himself puts his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes in a dramatic display.

Teammates going in similar directions home take off first, while others wave other their shoulders as they walk alone toward the station to catch their train. Bokuto is near the bike racks now, spinning his combination in silence. Focusing on that dulls his senses and just as he tugs on the lock, Akaashi appears next to him as if materializing into thin air.

“Akaashi!!” Bokuto yelps and he launches the lock upward. He juggles it for a few moments before he fails entirely and it drops to the ground with a slightly metallic thud. “W-What’s up, bro?!”

Akaashi stays silent, staring at Bokuto with his usual, unreadable expression; one that always, _always_ works. He has a perfect track record when it comes to deciphering Fukurodani’s effervescent if not quirky ace after all. He’s a patient guy, he's willing to wait.

Bokuto scrambles now, his heart a mess inside his rib cage as he lowers to snatch up the lock. He dusts it off nervously, all the while avoiding that pinpoint gaze that has him under a microscope. Panic doesn’t even begin to describe what he’s feeling. But _why?_ Why is he panicked? 

“Have I upset you somehow?” Akaashi asks now, voice steady as usual but somehow…slightly off, distant, perhaps even a little hesitant. Not like himself at all.

“Hah?” Bokuto replies eloquently, because really what are words anyway?

Akaashi’s sharp gaze narrows, but not on Bokuto. It lowers down, staring resolutely at the handlebars of Bokuto’s bike as his hand reaches up to grab the strap of his bag slung across his chest. Then, his posture positively deflates right before Bokuto's astonished eyes. “Did…I do something wrong?”

For the second time today, Bokuto feels like he’s run head first into a brick wall. He lifts his hands, palms out in a placating manner and he shakes his head harder than necessary. “Whaat? Pssh. No! No, no. No. Akaashi.” He doesn’t sound at all convincing—he’s never been a good actor.

Akaashi looks up again, expression hard as he tightens his grip on his book bag strap. “Why are you lying…” he says bluntly; less of a question more of an accusation and it jabs directly into Bokuto’s gut. He doesn’t back down either, stepping closer with determination set in his piercing gaze--looking much more like himself again.

Bokuto backs up out of instinct, but stops himself suddenly because Bokuto Koutarou does _not_ run away. He does, however, grab onto his bike’s handlebars for dear life, an action that tugs back on the bike causing it to wheel backward too.

Akaashi’s hand darts out then, gripping the center bar and holding it in place as if to prevent Bokuto from moving any further. “Bokuto-san,” he calls out stubbornly. “Please communicate with me. This is increasingly bothersome.”

Bokuto tightens his lips as he lifts his shoulders up to his ears. Something is building up inside of him and he has no idea what and honestly? It terrifies him. Because it feels like it’s about to explode, and he doesn't know what's going to happen after that explosion.

“As vice-captain I’d like be informed of any goings on that might potentially affect the team,” Akaashi continues despite Bokuto’s muteness. There’s a short pause and Akaashi looks back down at his hand on the center bar. His fist tightens, knuckles going pearl. “As your friend…I’m concerned. So just…tell me, okay?”

A silence passes between them. Just off into the distance, other teams finish up practice and head past them toward the front entrance with their bags slung over their shoulders and happy conversation floating up into the night air.

Bokuto swallows heavily, sweat that had begun to bead on his forehead finally trickles down the side of his face, itching annoyingly as it curves down his jaw line. He lifts a hand to it, wiping it away quickly. His movement catches Akaashi’s attention again, sharp eyes flitting upward to catch golden ones and successfully, finally pins Bokuto down.

It’s useless at this point, Bokuto figures. He lets out a sigh, shoulders finally dropping. “I don’t even know…” he confesses, feeling utterly and completely uncool—but what else is knew when it comes to talking with his cooler-than-a-cucumber underclassman setter? “I’ve been feeling…weird.”

“Weird?” Akaashi asks now, his voice softer than before as he quite easily falls back into the role he’s so well trained for; Ace Handler. “Are you sick?”

“No, not like that, just,” Bokuto frowns and it’s an ugly grimace, one that accurately portrays just how agonizingly frustrating this entire afternoon has been for him. He lifts his hands now, hovering them over his chest in a circular motion, quick and random. “Weird.” He doesn’t know how else to describe it. Surely he doesn’t have the vocabulary for it—the way his heart felt like lead when hearing the news at lunch; the way his mind zoned off into a place he’d never been; the way looking at Akaashi now makes his stomach tighten like he can’t breathe.

“Did something happen?” Akaashi helps him along, as he is wont to do. He’s clever that way; having an uncanny skill for walking his friends through these things despite his somewhat cold nature. His bluntness is appreciated for this exact purpose. “Something at home? Or bad grades?”

Bokuto shakes his head now, lips scrunching as the turmoil in his gut begins to bubble and ache, bringing something to the surface that he really just can’t seem to put a name to. That seems to be a growing theme today for him.

“Hmm.” Akaashi lifts a hand to his chin, pinching it gently as he thinks aloud. He shrugs as if coming to some sort of impassive decision in his mind before he asks in a lifting tone, “Girl trouble?”

The silence between them is so thick and filled with invisible sirens going off that one can hardly call it silence at all.

Akaashi lets his hand lower and he blinks slowly, studying his friend for a few more seconds before speaking unhurried, tentatively, as if not to scare the beast. “Bokuto-san…does this, by any chance, have anything to do with me and Kaede?”

Bokuto’s brain doesn’t work anymore. How could it?

Kaede. Who was that again? Fukushima Kaeda, class 2-C. She’s planning to run for student council when she becomes a third year. Bokuto remembers her enthusiastic speech during the opening ceremony of the new semester. She’s bright and kind, but not too flashy. But, is she really a good fit for someone as perfect as Akaashi? Well, if not her then...who?

“N…” Bokuto doesn’t have the wherewithal to finish whatever thousand thoughts start and fizzle out. He’s dumbstruck as a realization painfully, forcefully bulldozes its way into his simple, simple mind.

“I told her no,” Akaashi explains calmly. “In case you were wondering.”

“You…you what?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? What we were doing in the courtyard at lunch. It doesn’t take a genius. She confessed to me, asked me to date her, and I said no. She was sad but we're still friends, so I'm not worried. Also, tell the others to be more subtle when they spy…they were ridiculously obnoxious about it and it made Kaede uncomfortable. You can let all of them know too—it’ll be annoying to have to talk to them one by one.”

“Why?” Bokuto finds himself asking suddenly; the word bursting out of him like a gasp.

Akaashi’s unflappable expression loosens in slight surprise, thick eyebrows tilting upward. “Why what?”

“Why did you say no?!” Bokuto steps forward now, pushing the bike along with him. “You were supposed to say yes!!”

“I…was?”

“Of course! Because if you said _yes_ , then you’d have a girlfriend! That’s why I—I, I mean…I…” His voice trails off, throat tightening and it makes it hard to breathe a little and wow is it really this hot? Surely it can’t be this hot _this_ time of night. The sun has set long ago, but something dawns on Fukurodani’s eccentric ace like a morning light.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Oh my God…” Bokuto whispers, mostly to himself, but Akaashi hears it and tilts his head in question. “That’s it! That’s why!!”

“Again. Why what?”

“Why I was so upset all day!” Bokuto slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, knocking his head back slightly. “Duh! I’m such an idiot. And here I was getting all worked up over nothing. Man, glad that’s over. I was starting to think there was something seriously wrong with me! Like I’d gone crazy!”

Akaashi stares at him, really _stares_ at him, for quite some time feeling as if he’s just been dragged along the most intense and dangerous roller-coaster imaginable. “Congratulations?” he says delicately albeit confused.

Bokuto laughs now, loud and boisterous like his normal self—characteristically bouncing back so strongly it gives everyone around him whiplash. He reaches forward now, letting Akaashi’s hand keep the bike upright, and he grabs onto his setter’s biceps, squeezing. “I didn’t _want_ you to have a girlfriend!” he proclaims loudly, his doofy grin brightening his face without a care in the world. The 180 shift has Akaashi seeing stars.

“W-what?” he manages to say a little breathlessly, blinking like his brain is fizzling out. His cheeks show just the faintest hints of pink, cheekbones blushing with heat.

“Mhm!” Bokuto nods sharply. “I guess I jumped the gun there, huh? Like 80 steps ahead!” He laughs again, tilting his head back as he slaps Akaashi on the arm a couple times in camaraderie. He shifts now, grabbing his bike from Akaashi, whose own hand slips and falls limply at his side as he stares wide eyed at his friend. Bokuto lifts the front wheel, adjusting so he can walk it down the small pathway toward the entrance. “When Anahori came in all frazzled I was like—Oh, he seems excited. But I didn’t really worry too much, y’know? And then like _wham_ I heard you were out in the courtyard with a girl and my whole life got turned inside out! Can you believe that? I freaked out and I didn’t know why! So uncool. But it was a waste of energy, because you said no! I can rest at ease now that—Akaashi?” Bokuto stops walking and he’s made it halfway to the entrance from the bike racks before he realizes his friend is not beside him as usual.

Instead, Akaashi is still standing by the bikes, turned toward Bokuto with wide eyes and parted lips. It’s probably the most expressive Bokuto has ever seen him, which is…curious to say the least.

“You…” he says softly and Bokuto can hardly hear him. He hums in question, tilting his head in Akaashi’s direction with that dimwitted smile on his lips. “You don’t want me to have a girlfriend?”

“That’s, yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Why not?”

Bokuto freezes. A sudden, powerful chill runs under his skin causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He swallows his heart and says, “Heh, oh! You know…because, uh…” Now that he thinks about it—which, if one remembers, is not something he prefers to do—why _doesn’t_ he want Akaashi to have a girlfriend?

“Bokuto-san.”

“H-hold on! I’m thinking,” Bokuto lifts his hand, a small barrier as the setter makes his way toward him with quick, certain steps. Pressing his index finger to his forehead and pouting his lips, Bokuto hums in thought as he filters through the possibilities in his mind. He starts with the most obvious, to him at least. He lifts his finger in the air as he announces, “Because I like Kaede-san!”

It’s Akaashi’s turn to freeze and he stops just shy of a few paces away from Bokuto. “What.”

“Wait, no. I don’t think I’ve ever even talked to her,” Bokuto mumbles now. “That can’t be it.”

“Bokuto-san…”

“Oh! It’s probably because I don’t want you to get a girlfriend before _me!_ ” he suggests now, feeling quite ingenious. “You’re an underclassman and all. And I’m the dashing Fukurodani ace—it’s simple math.”

“Bokuto-san.” His voice is closer now, but Bokuto pays it no mind as his own thoughts spin like a whirlpool of ideas.

“My best friend, a year younger, gets a girlfriend before _moi_? That’s just absurd! Actually, who would even be a good girlfriend for you? Now that I think about it, I don’t like the idea—”

“Koutarou.” Akaashi’s voice is sturdy and sharp, like the cut of his gaze as he is suddenly inches away from Bokuto’s face. He lifts his hands to Bokuto’s cheeks, slapping them a bit harder than necessary as he holds him between his warm palms. He has Bokuto’s attention now, if those wide golden orbs staring back at him are any indication. “Hold still,” he says. “I want to check something.”

“Huh? What for? Check what?”

His questions aren’t answered with words, no; much _much_ less than that. Bokuto’s already wide gaze plasters even wider when he feels the soft touch of Akaashi’s lips against his own. It’s gentle and hesitant, a barely there brush of skin against skin. It’s warm and nice and peculiarly comfortable, as if this is just the way things are _supposed_ to be between him and his best friend.

Bokuto’s miniature self folds his arms across his chest with a satisfied grin. _Took you long enough, moron._

Just as Bokuto’s eyes flutter shut, the pressure against his mouth is gone, leaving an unwelcomed chill behind. He lingers there, lips slightly puckered with expectation before he slowly comes to. He opens his eyes again, blinking them as if his brain needs to reboot.

“You kissed me,” he points out, in case Akaashi hadn’t noticed. He’s helpful like that. “You…you don’t want a girlfriend?” He lifts his hands to Akaashi’s, covering them with his own and they’re warm.

“Yes, I did. And no, I don’t want a girlfriend,” Akaashi replies with pink cheeks.

“Oh,” Bokuto says and after another long moment he repeats louder with more gusto, “OH!!”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips turn upward ever so slightly, giving Bokuto a gentle, endearing smile. It’s a new expression, one that Bokuto doesn’t think he’s ever seen him make before. And its exhilarating. He'd like to see more of these expressions if he can. The sensation it gives him is the second time today.

Suddenly, Akaashi pulls Bokuto in again, much more forcefully than before.

And for the _third_ time today, Bokuto’s entire existence drops off the face of the earth.


	3. Asanoya: Urge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that each oneshot chapter keeps getting longer and longer, but I promise that has no meaning towards how much I like a ship! lol I just don't know how to write things without drabbling on and on....  
> But anyways, the fluffy cuteness continues! This time, with our favorite glass hearted ace and his spunky chipmunk bf!

Dating is a lot like falling in a never ending vacuum-like black hole. Well, okay. Perhaps that’s a bit too vague for the general populous to relate to on an emotional level.

For Azumane Asahi _specifically_ , it feels like falling in a never ending vacuum-like black hole. The fear of the unknown beneath him and the air in his lungs being ripped from him is enough to have him on the verge of some kind of break.

Of course, it goes without saying that many, many things in life cause Asahi intense amounts of anxiety to the point where he feels like he can’t breathe. Dating is just another one of those things. Not that he doesn't _want_ to be dating. He wants to! Like a lot! And it’s not all necessarily bad. Sometimes he welcomes the way Nishinoya makes his heart skip and knees weak; the way that bright, wide grin turns his brain to slush rendering all human vocabulary useless.

He leans back from his desk in his room one night; up late studying for a modern Japanese history exam that he’s not entirely prepared for. He had asked Sugawara to help him out—his friend being quite the whiz when it comes to remembering specific dates and people. Unfortunately, as well-intended—albeit quirky— as Suga is, his tutoring skills leave much to be desired. He just… _knows_ things. So much so, Daichi and Asahi are almost convinced he was somehow present during those historical events.

Shaking all thoughts of his friend possibly being a time traveler aside, Asahi spins his mechanical pencil in his hand before flicking it rhythmically against his text book. He’s written the same facts over and over to the point where his head is about to burst.

“If I fail, I fail,” he mumbles to himself, coming to the resolution with a certain apathy one can only achieve in third year of high school. Abandoning his studious post, he gets up from his chair and stretches his arms high above his head as he drags his socked feet across his carpet until his legs hit the mattress. He flops forward and falls into his plush blankets with a tired sigh.

Before he can get too comfortable, a small buzzing from somewhere with the sheets catches his attention. And like usual, his stomach and heart do all sorts of acrobatics that can’t be good for a youthful lad his age. He slaps his hand around blindly, feeling for his phone until he finally finds it.

He squints at the screen, turning down the brightness before reading the text message he knew was coming. He waits for them eagerly every night ever since his recent relationship status change.

 **Nishinoya Yuu:** goooooooodnight ミ☆

 **Nishinoya Yuu:** seriously tho. go to bed I know ur up still

 **Azumane Asahi:** so are you

 **Nishinoya Yuu:** you cant prove that

Asahi smiles so wide he almost forgets he was sleepy just a few moments ago. He replies a goodnight message to Noya, locks his phone, and drops face down into his pillow to promptly scream happily in muffled peace.

He can’t help it. It’s just… a lot. He’s had these feelings for Nishinoya since before he could put a name to them. And now that they’re dating, the feelings just keep getting stronger and stronger. From an outsider’s perspective, you could tie it up nicely in a bow, call it puppy love, and happily ever after.

But this is Azumane Asahi we’re talking about here. Since when is it ever that easy?

Feeling that familiar tug of desire snake its ghostly tendrils down his body, setting his nerves alight with electricity, Asahi shivers as he turns over onto his back with an almost dejected sigh. He stares up at the ceiling as he runs through his practically daily list of warped reasoning:

_We just started dating. It’s too early. You don’t even know how Noya feels about it. Don’t be selfish. Don’t be a predicable hormonal teenager. Don’t spoil what you have._

Sighing again, Asahi lifts his hand to his lips to run his thumb over them. Before he can use his, again warped, reasoning to stop himself, he imagines leaning down and pressing them against Noya’s. He imagines what it would feel like; warm and soft and—

“No!” Asahi quite literally pulls his hand away from his mouth, wrapping his long fingers around his wrist and holding it out to glare at the offending appendage. “Stop that.”

In a bout of pure protest, he turns onto his side, folding his arms across his chest and clamping his eyes shut to force himself to sleep. Eventually he does, but not without about (give or take) an hour of internal conflict.

\--

Surely the amount of stress one human can take has its limits before ultimately imploding. Azumane Asahi quite often pushes the envelope in this department. Now is no different. He feels his heart clench something fierce in his chest, making breathing somewhat difficult and he feels cold and hot at the same time.

“You should’ve seen it!” Noya’s voice carries with its usual gusto, booming loudly in the confines of the club room. He’s shirtless—well, mostly naked really; save for the dark boxer briefs snugged tightly around him. Standing next to Tanaka, who’s feeding his excitement like always, Noya lifts his hands up and bends his knees in a dramatic stance as he recounts the important story of the day. “She just _sprinted_ over to the person. It was just a dropped handkerchief, and yet our angel so graciously went to such lengths to return it.” He folds his hands now, holding his practice jersey in between his grasp as he prays to whatever deity he sees fit.

Tanaka wipes his eyes, misty with emotionally compromised tears. “Kiyoko truly is an angel sent to earth. Get too close and the holy flames will burn you to a crisp.”

“Will you two shut up and get dressed already,” Daichi’s stern voice bellows over their blubbering, hands on his hips briefly before he shoves the two toward their locker cubbies. They mutter halfhearted apologies and the other boys around the room poke fun at their rambunctiousness for a few moments before all is back to normal—or at least, the Karasuno boys volleyball team’s version of normal.

Asahi lets out a sigh of relief, holding a weak hand to his fluttering heart and finally forces himself to look away from Noya. He stares resolutely ahead as he finishes changing too, eyes narrowing on his trembling hands when he burns the image of Noya's dark underwear in his mind.

 _Calm down, you animal¸_ he reprimands himself with a frown. He eventually stands up and pulls out his hair tie, letting his hair fall loose with a shake. He holds the tie between his lips, turning around as he runs his hands through his hair to put it up in its tighter bun for practice. He doesn’t get very far, however, running into and practically trampling Noya who’d slipped right up behind him at some point without a sound.

“N-Noy—Sorry!” Asahi blusters, barely able to hear himself over the throbbing of his heart. His excitement throws him off balance, and bumping into Nishinoya didn’t help any. He starts to stumble a bit.

“Woah! Careful there,” Nishinoya says in his usual easygoing, effortlessly cool way. Of course, it’s not as if Nishinoya can hear the way Asahi’s heart is pounding anyway, so why would he have cause for alarm? He reaches out to put his hands on Asahi’s arms, steadying him with a gentle, familiar touch. That touch however, sends sparks thrilling up and down Asahi’s entire arm, shooting upward in his spine and zapping directly into his poor, glass heart.

The instant heat he feels on his face is so strong and telling that it’s somewhat frightening. Before he can go through various simulations of proper ways to react in his mind, he pulls away as if he’d just been electrocuted by Noya’s hands.

This is, of course, the absolute _worst_ thing to do.

Nishinoya freezes, hands out in front of him where Asahi had jumped away from his touch. His sharply pointed eyes are wide, lips parted just a bit in mild shock. There’s a silent moment then, and even though the other boys go about their business to leave the club room, some pause and glance over at the two with curious expressions.

Asahi panics, mouth opening but words fail him and he’s left doing a rather impressive impersonation of a fish out of water. In his stead, Noya’s laugh cuts through the silence like a hot knife against butter, melting the tension away but leaving quite the slimy, uncomfortable residue in its wake. “Sorry, man. I was in your way!” He grins now, wide and toothy like the quick piranha he is, and turns to jog out of the club room alongside Tanaka and Hinata. The rest of the team files out in their own time, conversations lifting into the air and fading away as they make their way down the metal staircase.

Asahi stands there, alone in the room, with wide eyes and slack jaw; ultimately frozen in place at the disastrous misunderstanding he’s just created.

Sure, an outsider perspective would see that nothing remarkably horrible had just taken place. But Azumane Asahi has spent 17 years honing his skills to read microexpressions—especially those of one perky libero in recent years. For the shortest, tiniest, infinitesimal moments; Noya looked…hurt. Asahi lifts his hand to his face, slapping his palms on either side of his cheeks as horror wracks through him. Color drains from his skin. _What have I done?!_

“Asahi!” Daichi’s voice echoes upward through the door that’s been left ajar. “Get the lead out of your butt and come down here.”

\--

Asahi’s bad luck, though self-induced, does not stop there. Later in the week during lunch time, he sits at his desk staring down at the weak excuse of a meal which consists of a _konbini_ sandwich that’s more bread than anything and a tuna rice ball. The events of today’s royal screw up keep playing over and over in his brain like a plague.

 _Look at this face, would ya?!_ Tanaka had said excitedly earlier that morning after practice. The club room stunk with the ripe scent of sweaty boys as they dawdled before morning classes. As usual everyone began roughhousing and goofing off. Tanaka had poked fun at his shorter friend, calling him fun sized. Somehow or another, the topic of everyone’s looks eventually came into play. Who’s the most handsome, who’s the most flirty—which has a _shiogao_ and which has a _shoyugao_ , otherwise known as who’s a manly one and who’s a pretty boy. Much to Noya’s dismay, Tanaka and Tsukishima decreed their libero was 100% pretty boy. He had pinched Noya’s face between his thumb and fingers, puckering his plump, pink lips and turning his face toward Asahi’s. _Is this not the face of a beautiful boy?_ He had proclaimed.

Asahi slumps in his chair now, remembering how explosive his heart had been and how ridiculously he had reacted. He just couldn’t look away from those perky lips, wide expectant eyes, vulnerable compact body practically put on an offering slab for his beastly, grubby hands to devour. Everyone is used to him acting like a complete fool, but this time really takes the cake. He’d ceremoniously lifted his gaze toward the heavens, loudly announced he doesn’t know what any of it means, and promptly ran out of the room, tripping on Ennoshita’s sports bag in the process. He doesn’t know if he can show his face to his teammates this afternoon.

He’d just really, _really_ needed to get away and cool his head.

“I’m the worst,” he mumbles to himself, lowering his forehead to his desk a bit harder than necessary. The loud wooden _thunk_ that reverberates catches Suga and Daichi’s attention, pulling them away from their hushed conversation. They stare at him for a moment before exchanging silent, worried glances.

“Asahi, are you doing okay?” Suga is the first to speak, turning around in his chair to sit backwards and prop his chin on his arms over the backrest. “You’ve been really jumpy lately—well, more so than usual.”

Asahi perks up, lifting his head quickly and his forehead has a tiny red spot in the center. “What?! You can tell?”

Daichi and Sugawara glance at each other again, sharing a form of nonverbal communication really only they can effectively pull off. When their gazes return to Asahi, he lifts his hands to his head and groans.

“I’m a monster,” he mumbles yet another lament, scrubbing his palms down his face and sinking into them.

“Care to elaborate?” Daichi asks as he pushes and leans on the back legs of his chair, folding his hands behind his head as he side eyes his obtuse friend.

He does want to elaborate. Truly, he does. But where does he even begin? He’s stayed up night after night these past couple weeks wracking his mind, trying to make sense of everything that he’s been feeling to the point where he isn’t sure he still knows what it is that’s got him so worked up in the first place.

That’s a lie though. He knows full well what’s been pricking the back of his mind and eating him alive.

He wants Nishinoya.

He desires Yuu.

He hungers for his boyfriend.

In the most visceral, inappropriate sense of the word. He wants to _kiss_ Nishinoya Yuu!!! What is he, a mindless brute?!

He sighs heavily into his hands, feeling his warm, moist breath pillow against his face. His cheeks are rosy when he finally reemerges to look at his two, slightly confused friends.

“How did you two…” he begins, but he cuts himself off sharply, lips going pin tight. That’s none of his business. His cheeks bloom a darker pink and he shakes his head, ridding the thought. So instead, he starts over. “I have this friend…”

Daichi and Sugawara exchange a third, poignant, knowing glance at each other. They let him continue regardless.

“They have a…partner. A-and it’s a new relationship. Like, we’re talking,” Asahi quickly counts in his head. “Three weeks.”

“Young love,” Suga says with a grin. “Cute.”

Asahi feels his face warm even further, if that were possible, but he trudges forward. “And my friend really, really likes his, my—I mean, their partner.”

“I would hope so,” Daichi chimes in, nodding sagely. “Dating someone usually requires you to at least like them.”

“But my friend, you see, he—I mean, they’ve been sort of feeling…these…urges lately.”

“Urges~” Suga repeats the word, dragging it out as his grin grows even wider, a teasing gleam in his hazel eyes. “How spicy.”

“And what does your friend’s partner think about these urges?” Daichi asks over Sugawara’s less-than-helpful commentary.

“Well, that’s the thing.” Asahi forgets his hands are still hovering around his face and he relaxes a bit, letting them lower to his desk, warm palms pressing flat against the hard surface next to his uneaten lunch. “They haven’t talked about it. Or…or anything like that really.”

“And your friend is worried about moving too fast or overstepping their bounds, am I right? Doesn't want to make their partner uncomfortable with their...urges?” Daichi lets his gaze flit upward, staring at the intricate patterns of the ceiling tiles as he listens to this positively see-through fabrication. The small noise of surprise Asahi makes is more than enough answer for him, and he smiles in his friendly way before letting his chair fall forward once again onto all four legs. He turns in his seat, shoulders set and chest held high as he is wont to do before any motivational speech he gives. Sugawara next to him seems just as enthralled to what he has to say as Asahi is. He just has that effect on people.

“What is one of the key components that make any team function without hitch on the court?” Daichi lets his hypothetical rest there for a moment, silence filling the gaps between the three in their interesting trifecta of chairs and desks.

Asahi clears his throat, shifting a little in his seat as he looks down at his knuckles. “…communi—”

“ _Communication_ , exactly!” Daichi cuts him off, lifting his pointer finger to emphasize his words. Next to him, Suga smiles wide, amusement purely written on his features as he gently sways his head side to side. “Your friend needs to talk to their partner, got it? There’s no use sitting around dwelling in silence over something that may not even be an issue to begin with. But you’ll never know unless you _talk to him._ ”

“Y-you mean, unless _they_ talk to…” Asahi adds quietly.

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

Asahi feels a bit foolish now that he’s got such a simple resolution presented to him. But he thanks his friends for their help, and adds on in a hurry that he’ll relay this advice to his friend right away.

The bell to signal the end of lunch break tolls sweetly and Asahi quickly scarfs down his long since forgotten food.

\--

Asahi prepares himself with due diligence. He makes sure to blow dry his hair after his shower, styling it neatly and nicely, and he trims his facial hair a little to look a bit more presentable. He’s in the middle of picking out a sweater when his phone buzzes against his desk.

 **Nishinoya Yuu:** sure. How about 3?

 **Azumane Asahi:** perfect. The usual place?

 **Nishinoya Yuu:** sure.

Asahi stares down at his phone, quirking an eyebrow at the unusually sedate way Noya responds. But he shakes it off, scrolling up through their messages to reread a few things before locking his phone once again. He tosses it aside and continues to get ready for today. And today _is_ the day. He steels himself and looks in the mirror, tying his hair up halfway in a loose, carefree style. Because he can be carefree. He’s cool, he’s hip, he’s not a nervous wreck about to keel over and vomit from nerves of telling his boyfriend he wants to do something as savage as kiss him.

Three o’clock rolls around and Asahi sits on the old wooden park bench, leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees, pressing the tips of his fingers together. His heart leaps to his throat when he hears the telltale, slightly dragging footsteps of Noya as he comes up behind him. He sits up straight, turning to look over his shoulder and smiles.

“Hey,” he greets and stands up, rounding the bench and his stomach does a little flip when Noya’s sharp gaze lifts from the ground to look at him.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Asahi says. “I know it was sudden and you’re probably busy with studying.” He pauses at the ridiculousness of that statement, but continues regardless. “But I felt like I wanted to do this in person.”

Looking at his boyfriend now, Asahi notices that Noya seems a bit…off. His shoulders aren’t as straight as they usually are and he hasn’t styled his hair up today. Normally he wouldn’t be caught dead walking outside without ample amounts of gel and hairspray coating his head. Instead, he looks freshly showered, and the sharp lines of his face are framed nicely with his dark locks. His bleached bangs hang down the center, brushing over his long lashes with every quick shift of his gaze. He lifts his hands, shoving them in his pockets as he kicks a piece of gravel. “So…what do you need to talk to me about?” he asks, voice low and steady.

Asahi feels his brain stutter, uncertain of what he’s supposed to make of this mood. It _couldn’t_ be…could it? Nishinoya knows what he wants to tell him and he’s…upset by it?!

He swallows heavily, feeling much less confident than he had before; and now all sorts of possibilities of disaster run through his head. But there’s no backing out now. He can’t run from this—he promised to stop running months ago. When his now boyfriend, then best friend, had dragged him back by the heart strings. An act Asahi will forever be grateful for. And an act he’ll constantly feel a bit guilty for as well. Because it was around that that that he…

Well, these “urges” began around then.

“I, I want to be honest with you about something,” he starts and then pauses a moment. “Let’s walk.”

Walking and talking always makes Asahi feel a bit more at ease. He can focus on each step forward while successfully avoiding the steadfast gaze of others, which always makes his skin crawl in some way or another. Noya’s gaze never makes him feel that way, though. No. It makes him feel something else entirely.

The two set off down the small path through the public gardens. Trees line the park and it’s a quiet afternoon, not even the old ladies who pass through to go pick mushrooms in the mountains are around.

“A-anyway,” Asahi starts again after a while. He looks down at the intricate shadows leaves above them cast on the ground; sunlight filtering through and becoming soft like dappled crescent moons. “There’s something that’s been on my mind, that I need to tell you. And I hope… I hope it won’t make you see me any differently.”

“I know. I mean, I sort of figured,” Noya responds, keeping his hands in his pockets as they stroll. He doesn’t look at Asahi; eyes trained forward and they sparkle with the slivering hints of sunlight each time they walk under a particularly sparse tree. “You were being pretty obvious about it.”

“Really? Ah...sorry,” Asahi winces. Of course Nishinoya noticed. How could he not? He’s got eyes like a hawk, rarely a thing gets past him. As he’s deceptively quick witted when it comes to things he’s passionate about. “It’s just…sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He’d prepared himself for this kind of reaction, hadn’t he? But seeing it now in real life and not in some horrific rendition of his mind’s eye…it feels bad. Real bad. Worse than he imagined.

Nishinoya sighs and they’re cast into silence once again. They walk side by side, further away from the central area of the park. The pathway twists and turns, certain patches of grass well worn, tan dirt left in its place.

Asahi glances over at Noya every once in a while and despite everything, despite the whirlpool of thick, liquid emotions boiling and churning in his gut, his heart has the nerve to clench dramatically when he sees the way his boyfriend looks in the sunlight. He didn’t say it then, but he definitely agrees with Tanaka and Tsukishima. Nishinoya is beautiful. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t manly too. He’s the perfect combination—and Asahi let his pathetic animalistic desires get the better of him. Of course Nishinoya wouldn’t be comfortable with something like that! He’s never shown any hint of wanting it. Even in his fruitless pursuit of Kiyoko, the idea of physical intimacy was always just a half-hearted, if not slightly inappropriate, joke.

Suddenly, Nishinoya clicks his tongue, darting forward and spinning around. He stretches his arms out, glaring up at Asahi with a stiff lip and piercingly serious eyes. “I deserve to know why,” he says in a tone so chilling, Asahi is sure his spine crystallizes with ice then and there as he skids to a halt.

He’s dumbstruck, however, and he blinks down at Noya in bewilderment. His shoulders hunch up to his suddenly warm ears. “W-what?”

“Tell me why.”

“Why?” Asahi repeats softly, more gurgling in his anxiety riddled stomach. “Y-you want me to tell you why I want to…”

“Yes. I deserve that much, don’t I?”

Asahi gulps and lifts his hand to cup the back of his head, rubbing his long hair in embarrassment. He looks away, cheeks blooming pink. “I dunno…I just, it just feels natural to me. I’ve wanted to for a while now.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, um,” Asahi chuckles out the next words sheepishly. “Actually…even before we started dating, I wanted to.”

“What?” Noya’s voice is suddenly solid and dark, so much so that Asahi has to shoot his widening, surprised gaze to him. “What the hell, Asahi?!”

“I-I’m sorry!!” Asahi is quick on the apology, hands coming up in front of him in cowardly surrender despite being a little bit uncertain of why he should be apologizing for his feelings.

“Why date me at all then?!” Noya almost yells now, biting at his words like glass shards.

And then Asahi blinks, and blinks again, brain sputtering and zapping with slowly dying electricity. Adrenaline pumps through him, causing his hands to tremble as they keep their pose in a makeshift barrier between them. His heart thuds wildly, nearly bursting right out of his rib cage. “Wait...what?”

“What do you mean what?” Nishinoya narrows his tilted gaze, finally lowering his own arms to his sides, fists clenching tightly. “Are you some sort of sadist?”

“Why would I be…a, a... _huh?_ ”

“Who the hell dates someone just to break up with them?!”

Then all systems go off the rails; backfiring in the most intense way possible. Asahi can envision the frantic chaos unleashing inside of his brain as sirens blare with blinding red flashing lights. He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment as his expression pinches. He opens them again, staring directly down at his short boyfriend who glares up at him with fire behind his own mahogany eyes.

“Hold on,” Asahi says sharply. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

“You did!” Noya responds defensively, voice getting louder; a strong antithesis to the peaceful countryside around them. Somewhere up in the trees a small flutter of birds take off in a hurry, startled at the growing noise. He bends at the knees, practically ready to fight. “Just now!”

Then there’s a beat or two of pure silence.

“I did?” Asahi says bit more softly, but then shakes his head again, a visual representation of him quite literally shaking himself out of shock. “No, hold on. Wait. Yuu. I’m not _breaking_ _up_ with you.”

“You—” Noya starts off with poison but it fizzles out as his words catch on his tongue. He visibly deflates, tense shoulders loosening and tight brows unfurrowing. “You aren’t?”

“No! Oh my God,” Asahi practically whines. His face is back to being warm, embarrassingly so, and he covers it with his hands. “Noo, no. That is so not what is happening right now.”

“But…” Noya’s voice sounds smaller now, wholesome confusion lifting his tone. “But you were avoiding me and acting all weird. So, I thought that…”

Asahi no longer has the will to stand. He groans pitifully and squats down, keeping his hands plastered against his hot, hot face. This is what he gets. He deserves this. He’s the most hopeless 17 year old in all of Japan. Nay, the world.

“Asahi?” Noya says softly, a gentle question. Asahi can hear him step closer, tennis shoes dragging in their sluggish way. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not mad, just super-duper confused. So, uhm.” He taps a finger on Asahi’s shoulder, and Asahi looks up at him with a pitiful, desperately apologetic expression torn into his features. Nishinoya leans down just a bit to get eye level with him. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Nishinoya looks at him the way he always does; open and kind, eyes geared toward him with expectation of nothing less than Asahi’s biggest effort. His smile isn’t his award winning gleam, but it’s soft, gentle, a silent nudge for Asahi to open up to him. It’s times like these where Asahi should really feel embarrassed for an underclassman to be so dang cool compared to him. But then again, it’s not like Asahi ever stood a chance in that respect. No amount of “wild boy” looks will ever change that solitary fact.

But even despite the insanely large social and personality gap between them, they somehow chose each other. Within those sharp eyes and titled grin, Asahi finds a calming solitude he can’t find anywhere else, in anyone else. He doesn’t want to.

And he sure as hell doesn’t want to _break up._

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting so weird,” he finally says, letting his gaze drop away for a moment before rejoining Noya’s once more. “There’s something that I…I can’t stop thinking about when I’m with you.”

There’s another pause then and Noya’s listening, bright eyes flitting back and forth as he studies Asahi’s own.

Asahi swallows his heart and lifts his hand to his cheek, scratching it for lack of anything better to do with his hand. “Y-you see, uhm, well…I kinda…want to kiss you. A lot. Like, probably more than normal.” For a moment he has the intrinsic urge to hide behind his hands again, but he holds out, if only for Noya’s sake. “And, and I know we’re still so _new_ and fresh in a relationship and it’s so inappropriate but—I just can’t help it! Every time I’m with you—hell, every time I think about you it gets worse and worse. Half of the time I’m holding myself back from grabbing you and just—just kissing you! Kissing the crap outta you!”

His final words leave him and he’s breathing heavy, adrenaline and anxiety mixed into one exhausting emotion that leaves him wide eyed and a little frantic. He stares into Noya’s eyes, who simply stare back wide open.

And as if a spell has worn off, Asahi’s self-consciousness catches up with him. His face bursts into a fiery red and he lifts his hands, shaking them while sputtering. “N-n-not that I’m expecting anything like that! Please understand!! I’m, I’m a gentleman! I’m not going to do as I please. I—I respect you too much to—”

“So what?”

“…hah?”

“If you want something, go for it,” Nishinoya says with a mischievous grin tugging his lips. He leans in closer now, pinning Asahi still with his gaze. “Don’t be such a baby, Asahi, sheesh. Is that what this was all about? You should’ve said something sooner.”

“I’m…sorry,” Asahi says quietly. And suddenly Nishinoya lets out a loud, groaning sigh. He plops to the ground in exhaustion and Asahi has the immediate reaction to tell him otherwise—his clothes will get dirty. Nishinoya ignores it of course.

“You scared the hell out of me, man,” Noya chuckles in amusement; always the lighthearted guy even in the craziest of times. “I was so worried I could barely eat breakfast. Who sends an ominous text saying _we need to talk_ to their boyfriend when all they wanna talk about is kissing the daylights out of them?!”

Asahi blinks at that, a sudden, painstakingly obvious realization dawning on him like a bucket of cold water. It’s his turn to plop down onto the grassy dirt. A short breeze picks up now, the speckled shadows from the leaves dance across their skin like a kaleidoscope. The way he had been acting lately, along with his badly disguised discomfort around his boyfriend, and then a mysterious text like that to boot? No wonder Nishinoya thought he was being broken up with. “I’m a monster,” he says now, a new meaning to the self-directed insult. He pulls his knees in to his chest, hugging them tightly.

“No, just really dense.”

Asahi lifts his gaze to Noya’s and they hold it there for a moment before they both break out into a much needed, long overdue, relieved laugh. It lifts the tension between, filtering up into the air and catching on the breeze, taken far far away. After a moment or two, Nishinoya shifts and moves onto his knees. “Hey,” he says gently as he waddles over to Asahi. He puts his hands on his boyfriend’s knees, tapping his fingers like small galloping horses. “I meant it when I said go for it.”

Asahi’s heart stops, not long enough to believe he’s dying, but just enough for him to feel it throb back to life with a vengeance. A shiver runs through him, excitement in its purest form and it catches in his throat. He somehow manages to find his voice however. “Is…it really okay?”

Nishinoya grins now, leaning forward, using Asahi’s knees as leverage. He nods slowly and his grin grows even wider when he watches Asahi’s eyes dart ever so quickly to his lips.

“I appreciate you being all respectful and everything,” Noya says with a false air of sophistication. A short gust of wind brushes Noya’s bangs in front of his eyes and he shakes his head in a small jerk to clear his vision. “But you aren’t the only one who’s got urges, my dude.”

Like a rubber band snapping somewhere within his silly, silly brain, Asahi suddenly leans forward and closes the distance between them. He lifts his hands, grabbing either side of Nishinoya’s face, and it fits so perfectly in his large, probably sweaty and awkward palms. He presses his lips to his, earning a small noise of surprise from Noya. Asahi drinks that noise, pressing into the kiss with a tilt of his head.

Nishinoya responds in kind, a sort of relieved exhale leaving his nose as his own hands release Asahi’s knees and come up to the back of his neck. His fingers card through the loose strands of hair, smooth and warmed from the sun filtering through the leaves onto his back.

For a short moment, they both pull back, lips lingering close in ghostlike touches before finding each other once again. Asahi’s heart almost stops again when he feels Noya’s wet tongue slip in through his lips. Without a second thought Asahi lets him in, opening his mouth with a short breath, just barely teetering on a breathy moan. Their mouths move against one another in slow, lazy movements. There’s no rush, no hurry, but the fire is there and it burns between them with every passing moment.

Nishinoya’s hands fall to Asahi’s shoulders, slipping down past them to the front of his sweater to grab hold of the fabric as he leans in even further. His chest presses against Asahi’s knees and they part for him, letting him slip between him, against him, slotting so perfectly like he was made for it.

Asahi’s mind is in the clouds, spinning and spiraling weightlessly and it’s absolutely terrifying in all the best ways.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what the real deal feels like.

Noya is right. He _definitely_ should’ve said something sooner.

Before too long, Asahi starts feeling the desperate, unfortunate need for oxygen. He makes a small noise of discomfort, gasping a little when their mouths part for minute moments. Thankfully, his quick witted boyfriend catches the hint, if not for his own need for air as well, and they part. Nishinoya doesn’t go too far though; wet and swollen lips just beyond Asahi’s as their heavy breaths warm their skin.

“So,” Noya says breathlessly. The sound of it is nice and Asahi has to internally swat himself with a rolled up newspaper. “Care to tell me why you thought it necessary to hold back from all that?”

“W-well…” Asahi licks his lips, feeling almost numb with overuse and the lingering taste of Noya in his mouth has his chest inflating with a whole new sensation. “I just thought it was too early for, uh, this kind of thing. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Okay,” Noya says with a nod. He puckers his lips, eyes flitting upward in thought as he nods. “Okay. From now on, when you think you wanna do something and are afraid to do it, just ask me. No more agonizing over it on your own. I’m your boyfriend, not an alien. You can talk to me. I’ll listen, no matter what.”

Asahi looks at him for a moment and to him, Nishinoya Yuu looks positively radiant—oozing charisma that he’s probably popular for in his own grade. It’s not the first time Asahi’s thought it and it certainly won’t be the last. It’s not something that worries him. No, quite the opposite. It sort of fills him with…pride?

Sort of like. _Ha ha I got him, you don’t._

To whom that unnecessarily childish thought is directed, Asahi doesn’t know. For now, he simply smiles; eyes potentially getting misty but he refuses to acknowledge that. “I will. And, um, Noya?”

“Yessir?”

“Thank you for being my boyfriend.”

Nishinoya snorts through a laugh, lifting his hands to Asahi’s cheeks and patting them a few times, abrupt and sharp. The action has Asahi blinking in surprise and before he can react further, Nishinoya stands, dragging Asahi up with him by the collar of his sweater.

“You owe me ice cream,” he says as he begins to walk down the grassy path once again.

Asahi’s shoulders relax, following Noya with a content warmth blooming in his chest, spreading through his body like a comforting embrace. “You got it.” He reaches forward, fingers slipping tentatively between Noya's, who grabs hold of him tightly.

“And some meat buns!”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Pssh. Daichi buys me meat buns.”

“Yeah, well, go date Daichi then.”

“What if I did? Would you get jealous?”

“I—I was just joking!! Please don’t…”


	4. Kagehina: Hydrangea

“No.” Kageyama’s vocabulary has never been too articulate, but he feels good about this one. It gets the point across well with a nice sense of unmovable authority to boot. He nods, satisfied with this resolution.

“Oh, come on!” Hinata deflates in front of him and Yachi beside him seems to look rather disappointed as well. She hops from one foot to the other while holding her hands up listlessly. Hinata lifts his own fists, shaking them obstinately. “There’s only so many vacation days in the school year where we _don’t_ also have club activities. We’ve gotta take advantage of this one!”

“Why would I wanna go to a stupid shrine with you two?” Kageyama turns away from his shorter companions, pulling away from their sparkling eyes. He jabs his thumb against the vending machine and the drink falls into the compartment with a clattering thud.

“But look, look!” Yachi says helpfully now, leaning around Kageyama’s body that’s acting as a wall with a phone suddenly in her hand. “See how pretty?”

On the screen is a dazzling and otherwise awe inspiring scene. Mounds of hydrangeas flood the image, blooming and beautiful like a mystical forest of lavender and cerulean. At the top is a shock of red, a gate to the shrine hidden beyond where the camera can't focus on. Kageyama isn’t blind; he can see how pretty it is. He also _isn’t_ a hobgoblin; he can appreciate pretty things. In fact, he _likes_ pretty things—bright, loud, excitable things that make him all giddy inside and cause his lips to do a weird wobbly movement in an attempt to hold back a smile when they jump around and call out his name and unashamedly compliment him during volleyball practice.

What?

He’s talking about flowers. _Flowers_.

Hinata suddenly peers around him, glancing down at the phone before looking up at Kageyama with those big, wondrous eyes that can indiscriminately pin anyone down. His tiny mouth pouts ever so slightly, brows set downward with his usual stubborn indignation.

“N-no, not going,” Kageyama says again with less resolution than before and leans over to grab his drink. He has to shut his eyes—looking directly at the sun is bad for one’s health. “Looks boring.”

Hinata and Yachi let out groans of disappointment and frustration. However, their dramatic display doesn’t last for very long. They exchange knowing glances as soon as Kageyama walks away, sipping through his straw with utmost intensity; his ears growing red.

\--

The train isn’t packed, but it’s definitely a step busier than usual. Word has gotten out that this weekend is the prime time to see the hydrangeas and apparently everyone and their brother in the Tohoku region wants to have a look. That of course consists of about 85% elderly folk who talk with such outdated dialects that it’s like listening to an alien language when they grab hold of you and tell you about their day. The other 15% fulfill normal expectations of tourists.

Kageyama and Hinata manage to snatch a seat before the train car fills up too much. The lively red head, sporting a white baseball cap and equally vibrant yellow t-shirt, glances down at his phone with puckered lips. “Oh no! She really can’t come,” he laments woefully; almost too dramatically so. He lifts his screen to show Kageyama the text of her disappointing news. Well, her aunt having a baby isn’t all _that_ disappointing, but still…

“We can buy her an _omamori_ when we get there,” Kageyama says blandly, unsurprised by the news as he adjusts his backpack to rest in his lap. He turns forward, away from the phone when he sees the three dot icon pop up to signal Yachi typing another message. A small flutter of his heart begins now, and he has a sinking feeling it’s not going to let up for the entirety of the day. It's fine though. He has a handle on this predicament.

“Oh! Great idea, Kageyama.” Hinata bounces in his seat, kicking his feet and wiggling his butt excitedly like a little kid as he looks down at his phone again. He laughs at whatever Yachi writes when the train suddenly lurches forward. It catches him off guard and he reels sideways, toppling almost completely over onto his taller, much less colorfully clothed friend.

“G-get off of me, you fungus!” Kageyama pushes his hand against Hinata’s face that had promptly fallen into the small of his neck. He can feel Hinata’s breath on his skin and it gives him unsettling goosebumps. His face very successfully does a great impersonation of a wildfire, heat boiling beneath his skin. He shoves his smaller friend off of him and he glances around in a panic only to find that no one is paying them any mind—just two high schoolers being a little rowdy, nothing out of the ordinary. His heart thumps wildly in his ears and the way he can’t seem to calm down even after Hinata is no longer essentially on top of him is totally nothing out of the ordinary too.

Right.

He adjusts his sitting position, hugging his backpack tighter as he settles more comfortably for their journey. He _still_ doesn’t know why he agreed to it. He’d been so sure of his answer back when they first asked him a week ago. He narrows his eyes in thought, staring down at the feet of the person sitting across from him. So what changed his mind? Certainly not the relentless begging from Hinata during each break period, and _definitely_ not the text he’d gotten one night from Yachi saying that her aunt is ‘most likely going to go into labor’ and that she ‘most likely won’t be able to come,' and that she 'won't tell Hinata.'

Kageyama tenses, shoulders rising as if he were an animal on edge, and an odd shiver makes his chest feel funny and light.

“Okay,” Hinata says steadily, as if the little blunder from before hadn’t happened at all. If he notices Kageyama tensing beside him with an odd expression—balancing somewhere between elation and horror— on his face, he doesn’t anything. Instead he taps his phone in high spirits as he makes a game plan. “We just gotta take this all the way to the second to last stop. Then from the station it’s about a ten minute walk.”

Kageyama glances over at him for a moment, watching as his bright, adventurous eyes re-read details on the shrine’s website. As if sensing his gaze, Hinata’s lips part ever so slightly and he turns his curious expression toward him only for Kageyama to look away at the last second. His fingers come to one of the front zippers of his bag, tugging it back and forth. He forces his expression to return to its usual scowl, thin lips tightening.

Hinata stares for a moment, blinking owlishly before he slowly looks away, down at his phone once more. He dips his chin toward his chest to hide his soft smile and the hint of pink filling his cheeks. He turns a little, shielding his phone away from his friend (who isn’t really paying attention anyway), and sends a quick message to Yachi.

**Hinata Shouyou:** ur the best!!!

**Hitoka Yachi:** ☆⌒(≧▽° )

**Hitoka Yachi:** don’t forget to let me know what happens!

**Hinata Shouyou:** 👍 

\--

“Woaaaah!” Hinata coos delightfully when they round the street corner. From where they stand you can already spot the wall of purple and blue, an ocean of soft colors that stretches as far as the eye can see up the hillside. “Kageyama, look! Flowers!!” He tugs on Kageyama’s arm, yanking Kageyama’s hand out of his pocket which he had so neatly tucked it into.

“I can—let go of me—I can see that, dumbass!” His face feels warm again and he regrets not wearing a hat because surely the sun must be the reason for this burning in his cheeks. He shoves his hand back into his pants pocket and follows slowly behind Hinata, who practically skips with joy as they make their way toward the shrine’s entrance. They pay the small fee, glad to offer a donation to up-keeping the shrine, and then they head up the short paved pathway in no time.

The larger crowd is further ahead, atop the hill where the old wooden shrine peeks over the large hedge of hydrangeas. It’s stunning, to say the least, despite the obvious overkill of tourism. There are small booths atop the hill too, in the small courtyard in front of the main shrine building. Some old ladies sell _babahera_ ice cream, while others entice visitors with a makeshift yakisoba or oden stand. A small festival in its own, unique way. Kageyama figures he doesn’t mind it, if this is what their day’s agenda is going to contain. It’s not like he expected anything else, right? Just him and his friend, his good buddy ole pal Hinata, spending the day at a hydrangea festival miles away from home where no one they know can see them.

Kageyama swallows his heart. And as his brain takes him elsewhere, he lets his guard down—which is a big mistake on his part. Suddenly, Hinata pulls on Kageyama’s arm once again, shifting their trajectory off the beaten path with rather surprising strength.

“H-hey, what are you—“ Kageyama tugs back, but not really _that_ hard if one were to be particular about it. “We’re not supposed to go this way, idiot! Can’t you read the sign?”

“Shh!” Hinata puts a finger to his mouth, a toothy grin behind it as he leads them away from the crowd, into the flowery depths. “Trust me, this is way cooler! My cousin told me about it.”

Kageyama winces as the pathway gets less and less traveled, the bushes less well kept; straggling branches catch on his shirt and face every once in a while and they sting a little. The fragrance surrounds him and it’s almost overwhelming at how sweet and pungent it is. But he doesn’t stop moving; let’s himself be dragged along by the bouncing ball of excitement in front of him. Not long after, Hinata let’s go of Kageyama’s wrist and trots ahead a few paces while Kageyama slows to a stop.

The tall, tall bushes are practically piled atop one another; plush and bursting with blues and purples that fade and vary in brightness like a never ending gradient across the hillside. Kageyama takes it all in with wonder, eyes wide as he lets his gaze trail up to the blue expanse above him—clear as glass without a single cloud to be seen. The sun beats down warmly, not too hot now that he really thinks about it. He brings his hand up to his forehead and squints.

For a moment, he forgets himself. A small smile tugs on his lips; content and peaceful. He listens quietly, breathing in the aromas around him before he lets his gaze fall again, slowly lowering back to the wall of flowers. And his sight lands directly where it should, where it couldn’t keep away from even if he tried. Honestly, he’s maybe a little bit done trying.

Hinata stands amidst the cool colors, a warm beacon of white and yellow and red, red, red. He glows like the sun; a decoy sure, but so much more than that. He looks up at the flowers too, a smile stretching from ear to ear as his wild eyes stare on in almost childlike wonder. Well, then again…it’s not like they’re adults. They’re allowed to be childish once in a while, right? They’re allowed to break the rules and sneak off the path. Hinata’s allowed to be a guiding light in the fresh sea of never ending petals; allowed to draw Kageyama’s attention on and off the court in ways he has yet to fully realize and comprehend.

“Told you you’d like it,” Hinata says now, pulling Kageyama from his reverie. He grins cheekily at his dumbly blinking friend, hands behind his back as he turns to face him head on. “Pretty, right?”

“Y-…it’s alright, I guess,” Kageyama responds through his usual pout, hoping that if he scowls enough his face won’t feel so warm. He’s never been loquacious—he has the poor Japanese score to prove it— but inside his mind there are a million and one ways that say _go to him_ repeating on loop. It’s been doing that lately, more so than ever, and it only gets louder and louder despite his outward efforts against it. Kageyama is not as cool and uninterested as he may think he is; that much is now horrifically clear. Days where he’d normally be spending hours daydreaming about volleyball are replaced with something else, _someone_ else, entirely. It’s all really confusing for him, but it doesn’t feel necessarily bad.

His heart does a little leap when Hinata suddenly takes a few steps toward him as if answering his ignored, silent call. Kageyama likes the way it feels when his heart leaps, but he’d never admit it, not out loud, and not to himself. “What are you doing?” he finds himself saying before he gives himself reason not to. He lifts his hands, palms like blades, ready to fight—a force of habit really.

Hinata pauses, head tilting curiously as he arches a brow. “What do you mean?” Then he takes another step closer, returning to his slow pace edging closer and closer to Kageyama. The setter backs up on instinct, eventually brushing up against a tall bush behind him; its plush blossoms surround him and he can see his peripheral bleed blue and purple.

“You okay, Kageyama?” Hinata asks now that he’s right in front of him, looking up through his long lashes. From this angle Kageyama can see every sunkissed freckle, every shade of red and orange in his firecracker hair that curls wildly out from underneath that pure white cap. Kageyama’s gaze trails downward and from where Hinata is leaning over, the collar of his loose fitting t-shirt droops open; just enough so his slightly paler skin peeks out from below. His collarbone has freckles too and below that…is…

Kageyama feels a shiver wrack up his spine and he’d normally welcome it to replace how hot his whole body has been feeling, but instead it just makes matters so, _so_ much worse. He thought he had a handle on this; this new way his body and mind react to his teammate, but evidently he was very wrong. He swallows heavily, feeling a drop of sweat slip down between his shoulder blades beneath his black shirt as he tenses up again.

“You gotta poop or somethin’?” Hinata asks with a tilt of his head. He stands up straighter now, hand coming to the bill of his cap and lifting it a bit. He turns, starting to make his way toward where they’d come from. “There was a public bathroom out past that corner near the entrance. I always make sure I know where one is. We can—”

There’s a pause. Silence other than soft laughter and light hearted conversation which filters up pleasantly from the distant crowd. Hinata’s eyes are wide, surprise lifting his brows to his hair line as he slowly looks down at his wrist caught in Kageyama’s large hand.

“Kageyama?”

“…you…” Kageyama’s voice comes out weak, barely a whisper, and he clears his throat because that’s not cool. And Kageyama is nothing if not cool, duh. So, he can try again. He looks away, face aflame. He’s really given up trying to ignore it at this point—he’s blushing, blushing like mad and there’s no and ifs or buts about it. “You’re pretty.”

“I’m…what?” Hinata’s wide eyes go even wider, and they’re so bright and alive they capture all light for themselves and reflect it back like something out of a painting.

“Pretty. You look pretty. With the, uh, the flowers and…stuff,” Kageyama avoids those glistening pearly eyes staring at him at all costs. He doesn’t know what on earth has possessed him just now; maybe its heat poisoning, maybe it’s something not so serious. Whatever it is, he’s done fighting it. It makes his brain hurt to do so. Like eating and breathing, this—whatever it is—feels natural, so why not just let it be? “It’s nice. So, uhm, yeah.”

Again; words. Not his strong suit.

There’s silence again and it’s not uncomfortable, but it holds something there that neither can really pin down quite yet. But it’s definitely new, different, and really rather enticing.

Hinata lets his usual grin grace his petite face once again; beaming like the ray of sun he is. “You think so?” he asks, sounding a bit more confused than Kageyama expects. And that isn’t a bad thing, just… intriguing.

“Yeah.”

“Heh. Thanks, I guess!” he laughs now a bit sheepish; a small hint of pink tinting his softly freckled cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called pretty before.”

“Do you…do you like it?”

“Like it?” Hinata purses his lips and his gaze drops to the ground. He spots a fallen bunch of petals and delightfully gasps. He bends down and picks it up, cupping the round bouquet in his hands, cradling it as if it were a precious gem. “Oh, you mean the hydrangeas? Yeah! I love them!”

Kageyama grimaces, heart thudding wildly in his chest, but he’s persistent. “No, dumbass. Do you like it when I say you’re pretty?”

“Oh.” A pause and a glance down at the flowers then back up to Kageyama. “I mean, sure! Who doesn’t like to be called nice things? Normally you say mean things so it’s a refreshing change.”

“And if I said nice things…more often? W-would you like that too?”

Hinata looks down at the flowers again for a moment before slowly looking up, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Dude, are you okay? Is this some sort of test or something…”

Kageyama sighs dramatically, exasperation finally getting the best of him. He finally removes himself from the hydrangea bush, having almost essentially become a part of it at this point. He reaches forward and grasps Hinata by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. The bunch of purple in Hinata’s hands stays between them like a tiny focal point. “Are _you_ okay?! I just called you pretty and you’re acting like that’s a normal thing!”

“Well, how else am I supposed to act, jerk!? You’re not making any sense, Kageyama. What’s with you today?”

“ _Argh!_ ” he grumbles and releases his hold on his tiny friend, turning and lifting his hands to squeeze at the air in frustration. “Why do I have to like an idiot like you?”

“…”

“…”

A pin drop could’ve been heard in the death defying silence that suddenly overtakes them both.

“What did you just say?”

Kageyama’s eyes are so wide the slight breeze that sends a few loose petals cascading around them actually stings a little. He clenches his fists tightly at his sides and promptly turns away. “Nothing,” he lies about the words that actually caught him by surprise too. “I didn’t say anything. I’ve never said anything before in my life.”

“Kage—wait! Kageyama!” Hinata perks up when his friend suddenly turns and begins to stomp away, ears red again as they have been wont to do lately. “Hold on, you _like_ me?” Kageyama doesn’t see it, but the wide, almost mischievously satisfied grin that flashes on Hinata’s face is all but condemning.

Thanks to his quick reflexes and prompt speed, Hinata is able to catch hold of Kageyama’s shirt before he can make a break for it. He pulls on it slightly, causing the other to stutter to a stop and look over his shoulder; mild panic written in his tight brows and flushed cheeks. There’s yet another pause between them as the situation slowly soaks in, marinating amongst the sweet aroma of hydrangeas. Kageyama’s eyelids eventually droop, lips twitching a bit as he lets his gaze drop again, looking down at his feet. “Y-yeah…I guess I…I do.”

“Oh,” Hinata’s voice is softer now, barely there over his breath. “That’s…nice. I mean, I like you too Kageyama.”

“What?!” Kageyama turns fully now, shirt pinching around him as Hinata keeps his hold on the dark, stretchy fabric. “No, you don’t.”

Hinata squints at him scrupulously. “Uhm, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who decides that, buttwad.”

“No, it’s—that’s, _argh_.” Kageyama attempts to squirm free from Hinata’s small, tight grip but it’s to no avail. He’s not going anywhere. He sighs again, shoulders sagging. “I don’t mean like a friend.”

“Friends can like each other though...”

“Please listen when I talk,” Kageyama lifts a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Despite this revelation being quite new to himself, he feels a surge of even more embarrassment having to explicitly say it over and over to this shortstack. “I’m saying, I _like_ you.”

“Yeah,” Hinata says exasperated, giving a small tug on Kageyama’s shirt. “I like you too. Friends like each other.”

Kageyama lets out an angry puff of air through his flared nostrils. He forms his hands like blades again, like some kind of air traffic controller, emphasizing each word he utters next. “I think you’re pretty, Hinata. I like looking at you. You make my heart go all _bwuaaa_ whenever you smile. Okay? Get it now!? I. Like. You.”

Hinata looks at him with wide eyes and lips tight in a curious, albeit confused, smile, eyes flitting about for a moment before he slowly, aggravatingly slowly, responds with, “I….like you….too?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Kageyama reaches his limit that in all honesty, should’ve been reached long, long ago. But say what you will about his lack of loquaciousness, he sure can be endure quite a lot of his own stupidity. With a quick movement, too quick for even someone as reactive as Hinata Shouyou to avoid it, Kageyama grabs Hinata by the shoulders and pulls him in and jams his lips against his.

It isn’t suave by any means, nor is it painless as the small throb smarting on his face proves when his nose _smooshes_ against Hinata’s. The small, surprised squeak Hinata lets out is entirely by accident as his eyes go wide, and his heart explodes inside his chest as relief finally seeps through him like a numbing drug. _Finally._

Kageyama has his eyes shut closed so very tightly, too afraid to have them open to peer into the utter shocked look he’s undoubtedly receiving. With this, he can finish it off. No more stupid misunderstanding—all cards on the table.

After a few solid, slightly awkward motionless moments, Kageyama pulls away from the kiss. He lets out a steadying breath, tipping his chin downward with the sigh as he composes himself. “Get it now, idiot?”

“Kageyama.”

“What?” He can’t find it in himself to look up quite yet. His ears are on fire.

“Do you… _like_ like me?”

And like the crack of a bat, something snaps within Kageyama’s mind. His absolutely scandalized look of disbelief floods his features when he lifts his head up so quickly he practically gives himself whiplash. “Are you kidding m—”

And the absolute shit-eating grin on Hinata’s face is almost as powerful as a slap in the face.

“Y-you…Why do you…” He backs up a little, heart a jackhammer in his chest. “You were being dense on purpose, weren’t you!?” Kageyama has never blushed down his neck before, but judging at how dizzy he feels now and how quick his breath leaves him, he supposes it’s not an impossible situation to be in.

Hinata shrugs innocently and suddenly turns with a flippant air of accomplishment. He tugs causally on the bill of his hat, adjusting it where it had been pushed up from the impactful kiss. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an idiot, remember?”

Kageyama gapes, frozen solid as Hinata sneaks back into the sea of hydrangeas like some kind fiery forest nymph. “Come on, Kageyama!” his voice calls from somewhere within the flowers. “Hurry up! We gotta buy an _omamori_ for Yachi’s aunt!”

For a few more seconds, Kageyama stares wide eyed into plethora of blues and purples, jaw slackened. And after those seconds, his gaping mouth turns upward into a smile, doofy and giddy and so sincerely pure that he’s glad no one is actually around to see it.

“Wait up, Hinata!” He takes off after him, a sudden thrill racing through him—and it’s not like the usual thrill he gets from his daily competitions with Hinata. It’s so much more exciting than that. “What the? Where did you--?!”

“Shh! Not so loud, Kageyama! We don’t wanna get caught.”

“I-I _know_ that, shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fun story, the place they go to is 100% real (though not actually in the prefecture Karasuno is located in) and it's quite literally heaven on earth.  
> I enjoyed this one. It's shorter than the rest, but I like the color/flower theme I've got going on. I kind of want to draw hinata among the flowers tbh


	5. Iwaoi: First the Worst

Iwaizumi Hajime is used to working hard for what he wants. He isn’t some kind of prodigy nor was he a child genius to give him a leg up at the beginning, he’s just…him. A regular 3rd year student with a solid pack of friends, a sport he’s passionate about, and average grades. Being as such, anything in life that’s given him any sort of obstacle he’s able to tackle with logic and determination alike. He wouldn’t ever boast it out loud, but Iwaizumi prides himself on his ability to use intelligence and honed skill to make a name for himself within his school and other schools as well.

Determination and elbow grease can only get you so far though.

Because this new obstacle in Iwaizumi’s life is nothing like anything he’s ever experienced: Dating Oikawa Tooru.

It starts one Sunday evening, when Iwaizumi needs to get some fresh air, to escape the suffocating confines of his home and just feel the cool night breeze on his skin. He’d never expected to run into Oikawa there, nor had he ever prepared himself for the red rimmed, glassy look in his best friend’s eyes. The feeling of the Aobajosai’s star setter pressed against his chest in a warm embrace for what seems like hours on end has never left Iwaizumi. The soft, airy breath of a confession, ghosting against his ear, prickling his cool skin hasn’t left him either.

Honestly, considering his childhood friend’s demeanor and their, well, _history,_ Iwaizumi suspects their relationship to shoot off like a hot canon. Iwaizumi prepares himself for obnoxious PDA, pet names, and the like; steeling himself with his usual stone set expression he uses as a wall to mask his own insecurities. But that very next day, and the day after that, and after that… he realizes it’s all for naught. His daily routine before dating his best friend and after are utterly, painstakingly _identical_.

And soon after that, he becomes impatient.

The **first** attempt is during lunch break one busy Wednesday. The volleyball team has just finished their short meeting, having properly assigned duties for the following weekend charity tournament, and the members disperse to enjoy the rest of their break time. The voices and sounds of the bustling school hallway fill the empty room as everyone quickly files out.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi calls out to the setter just before he stands. Oikawa’s winning smile turns to glance up at him as he taps and rearranges his papers on the table.

“What’s up, Iwa-ch—aah!!” Oikawa lets out this short yell and lifts the papers up to his face, promptly and effectively creating a barrier between his lips and Iwaizumi’s. “Are you nuts?!”

Iwaizumi pulls back and glares at the papers he’s just pecked and quirks a frustrated brow while leaning over to shift that glare to Oikawa. Oikawa’s ears tint a deep shade of red and he turns away, clearing his throat as he hurriedly picks up the rest of his papers and leaves the classroom they’d borrowed for the meeting.

The **second** attempt happens a few days later after practice. Oikawa stays late, again, and Iwaizumi stays late to keep him from staying too late…again.

Anyway, the gym lights are still slightly glowing after being shut off, and the soft jingle of keys filter into the silent air as Oikawa locks the main doors. He takes a step back, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweating brow.

“Ugh, it’s disgustingly humid out tonight, isn’t it Iwa-chan?” he laments as he drops his shirt again. He begins to turn around, spinning the key ring around his slender finger. “I thought spring was supposed to be—OH!”

Iwaizumi is right there behind Oikawa, eyes sharp as he plants either hand beside him, pinning him to the tall doors. Iwaizumi’s own grip slips against the metal, slick with sweat, and as he leans in closer, he can see the soft wet sheen above Oikawa’s parted lips.

He closes his eyes, leaning in to close the gap. His heart thuds a little excitedly at the prospect of finally breaching that final obstacle…and then his face plants into the door. This effectively _smooshes_ his nose against it and his eyes shoot open.

“What—” He turns quickly, catching sight just as Oikawa ducks down under his arms, spinning on his heels and practically leaps away.

“Better get going, huh? Pretty late!” Oikawa shouts with his back turned to Iwaizumi, voice a little strained. He lifts a hand over his shoulder as he walks casually, yet hastily, away to the club room to change.

The **third** attempt happens when Iwaizumi is absolutely certain success is guaranteed. He’s over at the Oikawa residence for dinner; the air is calm and friendly, a relaxed Saturday evening after a long day of practice games. After helping Mrs. Oikawa with clearing the table, she shoos Iwaizumi into the tatami mat room with desserts and tea.

“Just let me finish the dishes,” she says sweetly to Iwaizumi. “You’re always so helpful, Hajime, unlike my loaf of a son.” She pinches Oikawa’s cheek teasingly which he swats away with a childish complaint and embarrassed blush. He sits down on a navy colored cushion, planting his elbows atop the short table. Mrs. Oikawa smiles and shakes her head a little as she says, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

And with that, they’re alone; sitting close together facing the TV as some variety show airs with plenty of laughs and dramatic reactions. The sounds of running water and clanking dishes drift in from the kitchen as Iwaizumi glances over at his boyfriend.

His eyes are trained on the TV, sparkling in the reflected light, bright as ever. His mouth is puckered in that small, focused pout he always does, and his chin rests on his folded arms.

Iwaizumi isn’t a fool. He’s able to take experiences and failures and learn from them. So this time, instead of surprising Oikawa, he starts with a gentle touch. A simple hand on the shoulder to gauge a reaction. There isn’t one.

Well, there _is_ technically a reaction, but it’s Oikawa letting out an airy laugh through his nose at one of the celebrity’s ridiculous train of thoughts they’ve blurted.

But he doesn’t flinch away from Iwaizumi's touch.

Ok, good. This is good progress.

Iwaizumi scoots closer, glancing over his shoulder toward the kitchen where Oikawa’s mother still busies herself with the dishes, back turned. He figures this is a good a chance as any, so he leans in, mouth close to Oikawa’s ear as he whispers his name.

Oikawa’s widened eyes turn sharply toward him, going crossed when he sees just how close Iwaizumi is to his face. Before Iwaizumi even has the chance of _thinking_ about leaning in, Oikawa shoves him hard. He falls back onto the tatami mats with a dull thud, his brain rattling a bit in shock.

“What’s—” he begins to say.

“Are you an idiot?!” Oikawa hisses a whisper, brows furrowed and eyes a bit…glassy. Is he…

Oh no.

He’s crying?

Oikawa’s cheeks fade deeper and deeper into a blotchy pink as he stands. Without another word, he turns and stomps away barefoot and loudly. That earns him a short displeased scorn from his mother as he passes by her but little else happens after.

Iwaizumi is frozen where he’s fallen, eyes wide and heart sinking lower and lower into the churning bile in his stomach.

\--

The following Monday, Iwaizumi sits at his desk, having already finished his duties during lunch break, and lets out a rather uncharacteristic forlorn sigh.

“Uh oh,” Matsukawa’s lax voice suddenly pulls Iwaizumi from his reverie. “Trouble in paradise?”

Iwaizumi turns toward him, pillowing his cheek against his fist and stares at him for a short while before figuring he has nothing left to lose by confiding in his obtuse friend. “How long are you supposed to wait before kissing someone that you’re dating?” he asks point-blankly.

Matsukawa’s thick brows shoot up toward his messy hair, eyes widening just a bit before his expression relaxes once again. He picks off a piece of melon bread he’s been munching on and points that at Iwaizumi. “That’s a question that doesn’t have a single answer, dude,” he says and then tosses the piece of bread into his mouth.

Iwaizumi purses his lips, narrow gaze falling to his hands in his lap. He expected such an answer, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying to hear. He’s nearly at his limit, and that’s not a feeling he’s ever thought he’d have to deal with. Sure, he’s thought about kissing and that whole _thing_ before, but it’s never really been a priority to him. He’s had bigger fish to fry.

But now.

Now _all_ he wants to do is kiss his damn boyfriend.

His childhood friend turned boyfriend who’s dated countless people and kissed just as many. He’s bragged as such during late nights with the boys—on overnight tournaments when they all decide to get nosy with each other’s lives and play nostalgic question games disguised as gossip.

So, what the hell?

What the _hell_.

The event from the weekend plays over and over in his head. The way Oikawa had shoved him away, the way his eyes looked...

Is the prospect of kissing Iwaizumi so terrible it makes Oikawa cry?!

Iwaizumi shakes his head, ridding that unnecessary, intrusive thought. That’s simply a ridiculous idea. He isn’t insecure enough to believe a self-induced lie like that. Right?

Right.

And besides, he has _proof_ that claims just the opposite. Because—

“He’s probably just nervous,” Matsukawa chimes in after a short while. He’s opening another _konbini_ bought bread; the plastic crinkles like white noise as Iwaizumi turns his attention toward him again. “The guy’s been pining after you for as long as time itself. He practically worships you, Iwaizumi. I remember during first year when he was so chummy with you, I thought you were two fist bumps away from sharin’ a jock strap.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes again, mouth parting slightly, and he shoots a confused glare at his friend who simply eats more bread, undeterred. After a bit more time passes, and more students refill the classroom as lunch break ends, he leans over. “So what are you saying?”

Matsukawa crumples up his trash and tosses it across the room into the garbage bin. “I’m saying,” he answers boredly. “Talk to your fricken boyfriend.”

\--

Talking with Oikawa Tooru has never been an issue for Iwaizumi. Why would it be? He’s known the guy since they were both poopin’ their diapers. A little thing like a heart-to-heart isn’t necessarily _new._ Through the ups and downs of their childhood into their teens, they’ve both been there for each other to lend a shoulder to lean on and an ear to blabber into. But as one would suspect, the circumstances are a bit…different now.

So, as we come full circle, Iwaizumi is at a loss.

Practice carries on without many hitches. Coach is light on the drills today since midterm exams are coming up and he sympathizes with his boys. He stands off to the side, arms folded, and calls out for the next group to begin.

While they rotate through spiking practice and digs, Iwaizumi keeps his eyes trained on the back of Oikawa’s head. His hair is getting longer now, locks near his neck curling as they darken damply with sweat. They haven’t really said much to each other since that fiasco at the Oikawa residence last weekend. That much is mostly on Iwaizumi. He’s not avoiding him he’s just…He’s _thinking,_ okay? He finishes off his round of digs and wipes his own sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He lines up behind the other spikers, pinching the collar of his shirt to fan himself.

Leaning over, he peers out from behind one of the taller players, eyeing Oikawa once again. It just so happens that at this exact moment, Oikawa turns toward him, gaze catching one another for a brief moment.

Iwaizumi’s lips part, taking in a small breath, before pressing them into a thin line once more, and nods toward the setter. Oikawa seems to notice this small gesture, ears going red in a way that only Iwaizumi can recognize behind the usual redness from exercising, and gives his own short nod in response.

The line of spikers filters through, and soon enough it’s Iwaizumi’s turn. That short, nonverbal exchange has him thinking. He’s done being a little coward and he’s going to follow Matsukawa’s advice. Just talk to the guy.

They’re best friends. They’re boyfriends. They can talk about _stuff_. All this prancing around, eggshells business has gotten old.

And so, while Iwaizumi throws his arms back behind him, stepping into his windup, a series of conversation starters echo on and on in his head. He leaps upward and swings his arm forward, smashing the ball down sharply across court. It’s a precise hit, one that echoes loudly up into the rafters and causes others to pause and grin at their ace’s raw power.

“Nice kiss, Iwa-ch—” Oikawa turns to get into position to set another tossed ball but he lets it fall to the gym floor with a resounding thud.

Iwaizumi freezes where he is too, having landed from his spike, and stares over at Oikawa with wide eyes and slack shoulders.

The world around them continues on as if nothing has happened, because in reality…nothing has. But between these two, that oh-so-sensitive switch has been flipped with the mere utterance of a word.

“Kill,” Oikawa says loudly, causing others who had previously been impressed by the spike to turn questioning glances his way. “N-nice kill!” He then stiffly leans over and grabs the ball before it rolls away and tosses it back to Coach Mizoguchi near the ball cart. He promptly turns away from Iwaizumi, shifting his attention to the next toss to set.

Iwaizumi decides then and there that he is absolutely not letting him get away today.

\--

“We’re walking home together,” Iwaizumi announces in the clubroom as the boys freshen up and change out of their practice clothes. The group hanging around Oikawa turns to look at their team’s ace who stands with a puffed chest and straight shoulders. “Get your stuff.”

Some teammates coo teasingly while others yell absurd theories about what sort of secret meaning that has between their captain and vice-captain. Iwaizumi ignores them all and stares down into the bright, wide eyes staring back up at him.

“Okay,” Oikawa says steadily before gathering his things, which only encourages the rest of the team to be even noisier and obnoxious.

The two of them walk out of the clubroom together, bags slung over their shoulders as they pass some of the other clubs winding down for the evening. A small group of girls giggle and squeal when they walk by and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes while Oikawa gives them a trademark wink and peace-sign.

For the most part they are silent; walking side by side down the street as the dim lights flicker on when the sun finally sets beyond the mountainous skyline.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Oikawa is the first to speak. He lifts his hand and picks at a loose thread on the strap of his bag, eyes cast down as he walks.

“Why should I?” Iwaizumi deflects if only because he’s being stubborn and maybe a bit competitive at how easily Oikawa read the situation.

Oikawa blusters at that; steps faltering just a bit as he bemoans, “You’re the one who said we have to walk home together, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi shifts his glance, side eyeing Oikawa for a few short moments before scoffing. “Do I need a reason to want to walk home with my boyfriend?”

“You—” Oikawa starts, expression pinched with annoyance, but he quickly loses his fire. He holds his tongue, cutting himself off before lifting a hand to his cheek to scratch at it for lack of anything better to do. The rosy color blooms slowly but steadily under his pale skin and his plump, always perfectly moisturized lips pout ever so slightly.

Then there’s heavy silence again and it’s, in a word, unbearable.

Iwaizumi lifts his own hand to rub the back of his neck, gaze steadfast on the houses across the street as they walk past them. Soon enough, they reach their own neighborhood. That very same park from before greets them in the night; empty and silent.

They cut through it, like always, but just as they pass by the see-saw they’ve long since outgrown to use, Iwaizumi stops walking.

Oikawa doesn’t notice at first, so his long legs take him a few strides ahead before he pauses and turns. “Iwa-chan?” he says with a curious blink.

Iwaizumi lets his arm drop limply to his side and he steels himself once more, lifting his sharp eyes to the other. The soft lights in the park paint a soft halo around Oikawa; backlit and eclipsed with shadow.

There’s a silent pause before two breaths are taken in at once.

“I’m sorry,” they blurt in unison.

“What?” Iwaizumi says with a furrowed brow.

“Why?” Oikawa asks not a millisecond later.

“What do you mean _why?_ ” Iwaizumi steps forward, quickly closing the distance between them. His expression is hard set as he lifts a finger to poke at Oikawa’s chest to emphasize each word he bites off next. “I made you cry!”

Oikawa lifts a hand to his chest, rubbing the afflicted area before speaking in his annoyingly, effectively cute whine. “I was _not_ crying,” he says. “And besides, I pushed you! That’s why you’ve been avoiding me isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi feels a small heat begin to stir under his skin, prickly and warm like taking that first step into a hot springs. He swallows heavily. “That’s not why I... You think I have such thin skin that a little thing like a shove is going to make me all upset? Do you even know who I am?”

“Well,” Oikawa says after a short pause, arms folding across his chest. “I suppose you have a point. You are quite violent, so that’s obviously your preferred form of communication. Sort of like a gorilla!”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth and narrows his eyes in an effective glare which earns a nervous yelp and flinch from his boyfriend. Oikawa lifts his hands up in preemptive defense, clenching his eyes shut waiting for the blow.

Iwaizumi does in fact reach out toward Oikawa, but not to swat him upside the head as he is wont to do, but instead he grabs him gently. He lowers their hands, letting his fingers slip around that slender wrist before intertwining their fingers together.

“Can we just,” Iwaizumi says quietly, turning away to hide his reddening face. “Go back to normal now? I’m sorry, you’re sorry, OK good. It’s all settled.”

It isn’t, it really _really_ isn’t. Normal isn’t what he wants. At least, not the normal that they’ve been used to for over a decade. And he has a hell of a lot more to say; a lot more that he’s rehearsed in his head many times over during practice. But when he feels Oikawa’s warm hand squeeze his own, he decides that this is enough for tonight.

They walk home in comfortable silence; Oikawa leaning in close and resting his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and maybe once or twice pointing out how much taller he is which promptly earns him a punch to the gut.

\--

Iwaizumi is used to working hard for what he wants.

Wait.

Is this déjà vu?

About two weeks have passed since their not-fight, and things are back to normal. That is to say, back to square one. Back to…whatever the hell you’d call their relationship now.

Lying back on his bed, tossing a volleyball up and down listlessly while music plays from his phone, Iwaizumi stares up at the ceiling. As much as he’d like to say he’s strong enough to simply accept this routine, in reality he’s…

Well, he’s frustrated.

Walking home together that evening felt _different_ ; like something finally caught fire and changed for them both. It felt as if some unspoken agreement had occurred between the two of them and that things would take a turn for the sappy. And two weeks later, Iwaizumi still has not landed a single kiss on his eccentric boyfriend’s lips. Sure, they’ve held hands and _ugh_ cuddled—that’s annoying in the spring time heat for sure—but beyond that feels nothing out of the ordinary of what their relationship was before…everything. Hell, they are so obnoxiously plain and routine that even a teammate or two has come to Iwaizumi asking if they’ve broken up or called it quits, returning to being childhood friends once again.

He sighs and catches the volleyball, holding it in his palms and tapping his fingers on it like galloping horses. “Why the hell is this so difficult?” he mumbles angrily to himself, because honestly at this point it’s getting to be a bit ridiculous.

 _Are_ they dating or not?

It’s not as if his boyfriend is the type of person who _doesn’t_ like doing couple-y things. He talks about it a lot actually. Whether its movies, dramas, a short novel, and the like, Oikawa drones on and on about how romantic and adorable relationships are. What with the kissing and the sharing food.

“So why the hell aren’t you doing any of that stuff?” Iwaizumi asks aloud, glaring at his volleyball as he sits up. When the ball doesn’t reveal any secrets, he scoffs and tosses it across the room onto a pile of dirty clothes.

He can’t believe he’s come to this—this feeling, this _desire_ to actually partake in lovey, dovey couple things. Sure he’s not a complete barbarian, he appreciates the simple pleasures of dating a person. But dating the most popular guy in school who has extensive experience only to be treated like some kind of _bestie_ has Iwaizumi practically chomping at the bit. All he wants to do is kiss his boyfriend, but his boyfriend apparently has different ideas. 

And that has Iwaizumi in a desire-fueled, heated frenzy.

And it’s embarrassing!

The music on his phone fades for a short moment, pinging with a notification before the soft tune fades back in to its set volume. He flops down onto his back as he grabs it and read the message.

 **Oikawa Tooru:** Iwa-cha~n❤ Do you still wanna watch that movie tonight? I’m near your house now actually cuz I walked to Lawson to buy some snacks

Speak of the devil.

**Iwaizumi Hajime:** sure that’s fine. You cant come in unless you bought me something tho

 **Oikawa Tooru:** How rude!! You’d think I’d show up empty handed? (￣ヘ￣)

 **Iwaizumi Hajime:** food please

A series of LINE stickers later and Iwaizumi is padding barefoot down the front hallway toward the _genkan_ , letting his boyfriend in. He steps off to the side, taking the plastic bag from Oikawa as he takes off his shoes.

“Want anything to drink?” Iwaizumi offers as usual while they walk into the house.

“I bought something already,” Oikawa responds as usual.

And it’s all so normal.

The two set up camp in Iwaizumi’s room. Oikawa arranges their snacks and spreads out comfy blankets and pillows while Iwaizumi plugs his laptop into the TV. He wiggles his finger on the track pad, finding the cursor on the screen as he logs into his account.

“It’s the 1987 one, remember!” Oikawa says from somewhere behind Iwaizumi, which Iwaizumi simply raises a hand, waving him off because he knows already.

And then they watch the movie and chow down on snacks and everything is so. Damn. NORMAL.

Iwaizumi slumps back in their make-shift blanket fort, thick arms folded across his chest as he stares ahead at the screen. He’s into the movie, more or less. It’s got an easy plot to follow and the outdated visual effects are fun to laugh at while Oikawa defends it. He comments how the monster looks pretty cool though, which earns him a starry eyed, excitable series of comments from Oikawa.

They continue like this through the whole movie; eating and chatting and watching and eating some more. Oikawa really did buy quite a lot, which really isn’t healthy for their in-season bodies but whatever. They’re young. It’s fine.

When the credits roll, Oikawa lets out a groan and a sigh and flops over sideways, head dropping promptly into Iwaizumi’s lap. Iwaizumi’s eyes shoot open wide, and his heart skips a beat, clenching tight and heavy in his chest.

Oikawa turns over onto his back; eyes closed and lips pouting as he holds his hands over his stomach. “I think I ate too much,” he whimpers pathetically.

“Go to the bathroom then,” Iwaizumi says over the steadily rising warmth under his skin.

Oikawa moans again stubbornly protesting like the child he is. “I don’t wanna get up.”

“Then fart or something.”

“Ew! Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s eyes dart open now, shooting Iwaizumi a scandalized look that meets his stoic one.

He shrugs. “You’ll feel better,” is all he offers.

“You’re disgusting,” Oikawa complains but there’s an amused and devious glint behind his mahogany eyes. One that seizes Iwaizumi by the heart and clenches like a golden-clad fist.

Iwaizumi swallows dryly, eyelids drooping ever so slightly as he suddenly leans down. He doesn’t get very far though because almost instantly upon moving, he freezes at the way Oikawa’s expression positively hollows—eyes wide and horrified.

“What are you doing?!” Oikawa whispers hoarsely, sounding almost conspiratorial as he pulls away but is unable to do much except press his head against the meat of Iwaizumi’s thighs.

Iwaizumi isn’t necessarily a patient guy, but he likes to think he’s been quite forgiving throughout this entire ordeal.

But enough is enough.

Feeling like a vein might burst out of his temple, he lifts a hand and squeezes it around Oikawa’s dumb, soft, cheeks; scrunching his lips like a fish. Those wide eyes staring up at him definitely add to the whole fish image too.

“I-Iwa-chan?” Oikawa somehow manages to speak through puckered lips.

“What the hell am I doing wrong?!” Iwaizumi says, voice strained as he feels all the tension in his jaw and throat. “Why won’t you kiss me!” he barks out this last bit, less of a question and more of an accusation.

Oikawa blinks up at him, stunned into temporary silence. Iwaizumi takes this silence to continue.

“I’ve tried so many times and every time you avoid it!” He releases his grip on Oikawa’s cheeks and the setter sits up quickly, rubbing his face and glancing at Iwaizumi with furrowed brows. “It’s like you don’t even _want_ to do it!”

“What?” Oikawa finally speaks. He lets his hand drop to his lap, crossing his legs. “Of course I want to do it. You’re my boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi shoots him an incredulous look which causes Oikawa to immediately put up his defenses. His face turns a bit pink as he points an accusatory finger toward Iwaizumi. “Y-You’re not being fair, Iwa-chan! Do you wanna know why I’ve rejected you so many times?”

“Yes, please! Enlighten me, why don’t you!” Iwaizumi grumbles back.

“Your timing is awful, you unbelievable oaf!” Oikawa lifts his hands above his head now, tension tightening the tone of his voice.

“Wh—huh?” Iwaizumi oh-so-eloquently responds.

“You _know_ how much I adore romantic stuff,” Oikawa continues unhindered. He reaches around onto Iwaizumi’s bed and grabs a projectile; which fortunately is simply a pillow. He launches it at Iwaizumi as he shouts, “Our first kiss needs to be _perfect_ Iwa-chan! And you’ve tried spoiling it over and over!!”

“First ki—What the hell are you talking about?” Iwaizumi catches the pillow easily enough and tosses it away just as quickly. He opens his mouth again to continue but Oikawa cuts him off.

“At school where people can see us, when I’m all stinky and sweaty after practice, in front of my _mother_ , and now?! Just when we were talking about farts, are you _serious?!”_

“Wait, hold on. You don’t…” Iwaizumi tries again, but Oikawa dramatically grabs another pillow and clutches it to his chest as he falls backwards onto the floor.

“You don’t think I’ve been pushed to my limit too?! I wanna kiss you so badly Iwa-chan, but we can’t just _do_ it! A first kiss is supposed to be special.” He whines and kicks his feet a few times against the soft carpet before stilling once more.

Then there’s silence.

And the rage inside Iwaizumi is enough to feel his eye twitch ever so slightly.

“You are the biggest dumbass I have ever met,” Iwaizumi eventually mutters with narrow eyes and a clenched jaw.

Oikawa sits up like a rocket, mouth agape and eyes wide with hurt. “Hajime!”

\--

“Hajime!” Oikawa calls out desperately, tears bubbling over his red rimmed eyes. He sniffles and gasps out sobs as he pushes his way through the thick brush. “Hajime!!” he yells again and clutches the bug catching net to his chest to keep himself from dropping it. He can’t lose it—it’s his best friend’s! He glances around, worry tightening in his tiny chest as daylight slowly slips away. A branch whips back and stings painfully against his tear stained cheek, causing a small whimper to escape him.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he got separated from Iwaizumi, but as times goes on Oikawa’s poor 6 year old brain conjures up worse and worse fates for his best friend. Another round of horrific scenarios plays in his head and he whimpers again pitifully, lip quivering as a sob wracks through him once, twice, three times. He lets out a hiccupped cough now, lifting his hand to wipe away more tears that spill down his downy cheeks which subsequently smears dirt across his face.

He finally makes it to a clearing, recognizing the small river that runs through their town, and he pushes past the final wall of plants. The net catches, however, and it yanks him back toward the brush like a giant green monster holding him prisoner. His eyes go wide and he turns around quickly, grabbing the net with both hands and tugs. “No!! Let go! This is Hajime’s!” he yells and his cries crack and hiccup his voice once again. After a few more hard tugs, a branch gives way and he falls backward onto the hard ground, hands scraping against some rocks embedded into the river bed. His shorts soak in the wet mud and before he can let out another tremendous wail, the sound of muddy footsteps approaching causes him to turn quickly.

“Tooru!” Iwaizumi yells as he jogs up. He’s missing a shoe and there’s mud on his knees and face and looks about as scared as Oikawa feels.

Oikawa’s lips wobble as he holds in more cries, snot dripping down from his nose. “W-where did you go?” he draws out the last word; voice cracking.

Iwaizumi finally gets to Oikawa and kneels down next to him. He reaches over and puts his Band-Aid covered hands on Oikawa’s shoulders and gives him a short jostle. “What do you mean where did I go? You’re the one who ran off!”

“But, but there was a beetle,” Oikawa laments through another bout of sniffles. “I saw it.”

“Yeah, dummy,” Iwaizumi says. “And you ran off after it. I’ve been lookin’ all over for you!”

Oikawa’s vision is still blurry from tears so he lifts his muddied hand and wipes the tears away with the back of it.

“Don’t do that!” Iwaizumi scolds as he suddenly grabs Oikawa’s wrist. “L-Look at your hand, Tooru.”

He does so and _when_ he does he sees the crimson caked mud mixed onto his scrapped palm; a scary sight for a young boy and as such, instantly his wails come back with a vengeance.

“Ow, ow, ow!! It hurts!” he screams despite it not really hurting—but blood means it’s supposed to hurt, doesn’t it? “Hajime, it hurts!!”

“Shh,” Iwaizumi shushes as he scoots closer, sitting up straighter onto his knees. He tugs Oikawa over and dunks his hands into the river. A murky stream of brown and red mixes into the water, flowing listlessly until it eventually runs a little clearer. “Gimme your shirt.”

“What? No! I love this shirt,” Oikawa replies with a pout, glancing down at the faded graphic design of little green men running around stealing sheep. His mother has washed it so many times that the corners of the detail are peeling.

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue and sits back on his haunches before lifting his own shirt; hair messing wildly as he tugs it off over his head. Without a moment to lose, he lifts Oikawa’s hands out of the water and before the cuts have time to bead crimson again, he wraps his shirt around them tightly. He presses his palms on either side of Oikawa’s, hugging hands firmly as he looks back up into his best friend’s red rimmed, glassy eyes. “Hold them like this until we get home.”

“H-how do we get home?” Oikawa asks after a few wracked sobs, breath finally coming back to a steady rhythm.

Iwaizumi frowns a little at that and looks around the river before glancing back at the brush. He points to it. “We have to go back that way.”

The mere idea of returning to the green beast that dared to steal his best friend’s bug net causes yet another emotional display to escape from Oikawa. “No! We won’t be able to see anything in there!” he cries and his eyes go wide, heart beginning to thud harder and harder in his chest like a tiny caged bird.

“It’s the only way I know,” Iwaizumi says plainly as he stands, lifting Oikawa up by his bound hands.

“Noo!” Oikawa laments again, louder and more irritable for Iwaizumi.

“Stop being a baby!” he says, despite the small hint of mist in the corners of his own reddening eyes. As the sky grows a darker and darker gradient, so too do Iwaizumi’s own fears begin to take hold. “We, we have to go this way.”

Oikawa tugs back in resistance, feet planting into the mud of the riverbed. “I’m scared!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t let this resistance stop him however, and he drags his best friend across the short muddy patch and soon enough they reach the edge of the thick, dark green brush. Behind him he hears Oikawa’s wracked sobs and heavy breathing, hitching and whimpering. Iwaizumi’s brows knit together and he looks down at his feet; his one bare foot is covered with a few scratches too.

“It’s okay, Tooru,” he says quietly before turning back around toward Oikawa. “I’ll protect you.”

Oikawa sniffs in sharply and lifts his own watery gaze to meet Iwaizumi’s. Iwaizumi grabs his bound hands and squeezes them again.

“You don’t have to be scared.” He stares at Oikawa and sees the worry tightening his expression. He’s close to crying again so Iwaizumi does the first thing he can think of. He leans in and presses his small, chapped lips to Oikawa’s tear stained cheek. It’s warm and soft and Oikawa lets out a small gasp. Iwaizumi pulls away just a little bit and brings one hand to the side of Oikawa’s face, rubbing gently just like his mother always does. He leans in again, pressing another kiss to his best friend’s lips just like he’s seen in the movies his dad thinks he isn’t sneaking a peek at. “Let’s go home, okay?”

Oikawa stares at him for a few solid moments before nodding mutely. He lets Iwaizumi lead him the way home, hands held through the T-shirt.

\--

Oikawa Tooru stares at him now, silent with eyebrows raised. Iwaizumi turns away and feels his face burn hotter than eleven suns.

“You…You actually counted that as our first?” Oikawa asks disbelievingly. “Iwa-chan, that was when we were, like, babies! I don’t even remember that! That was the worst day of my life!! I felt like I had rocks in my hands for _weeks_.”

Iwaizumi folds his arms tightly across his chest and turns even further away. “Of course you don’t remember it! You dumbass…”

“Ok, fine, yes. I _remember_ it now that you’ve said it but,” Oikawa scoots over a little, hand reaching out to rest atop Iwaizumi’s knee. “But that—that was different.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything in response. How can he? Embarrassment sludges through him like the very mud that had caked onto his clothes all those years ago. Sure, after that event neither of them had ever actually _discussed_ it at length, let alone brought it up as a brief childhood memory. But all these years Iwaizumi just…well, he figured Oikawa also considered it their first. So, being that as it is, when they started dating it wouldn’t be such a big deal to do simply _start_ doing things like kissing.

How was he supposed to know Oikawa kept rejecting him because he didn’t want to spoil what _he_ saw as their first kiss?

“Oh, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa suddenly says softly, a hint of teasing in his voice which Iwaizumi doesn’t care for _at all._ He turns his lips downward into a scowl; brows furrowing as he mistakenly decides to glance over at his boyfriend. Oikawa’s expression is a mix of everything that irks Iwaizumi, and then some. His eyes glint deviously and his amused smile stretches slowly across his unfairly handsome features. “I didn’t know you were such a sap.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi retorts instantly; ears burning hot.

“Ohh, Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa, in fact, does not shut up. He scoots even closer until their bodies are flush against each other, and wraps his arm around Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders. “All this time you thought I was rejecting you out of disinterest or something, didn’t you?” He gives Iwaizumi a little jostle. “That’s why you asked what you were doing wrong.”

Iwaizumi simply glares forward at the TV; face still getting incredibly warmer and warmer as his heart jackhammers away against his ribcage.

“Iwa-chan, look at me please?” Oikawa eventually says again quietly; tone low and soft like a whisper.

Iwaizumi chews the inside of his cheek for a moment or two before blinking slowly and turning to look at him. “Are you done yet?” he asks in annoyance, but mostly it’s just once again poorly disguised embarrassment. His breath catches in his throat when his gaze catches Oikawa’s. His smile is kind; one that barely touches his round eyes as he looks at Iwaizumi with a positively infatuated look.

The sudden clench in Iwaizumi’s heart makes him a little dizzy, and for a moment he kicks himself for even toying with the idea that Oikawa isn’t into him.

“Is now okay then, Mr. Perfect?” Iwaizumi asks with thin eyes but a smirk growing on his lips.

Oikawa shifts now, scooting to bring himself to sit right in front of Iwaizumi, cross-legged and leaning in. “Well,” he draws out the word; tapping his index finger on his own cheek in thought. “It’s not a romantic getaway by the eastern seashore under the starry night sky, but I guess this’ll have to do.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and reaches forward, grabbing a fistful of Oikawa’s t-shirt, which gains him a short whiny complaint about stretching out the collar. A complaint which is quickly silenced with the press of soft lips. For the amount of strength Iwaizumi used to tug his boyfriend within range, the kiss itself lacks any bite. If anything, it’s gentle…an almost shy taste of something so long desired.

Oikawa takes in a quick breath through his nose, eyes fluttering shut as he all but melts into the sensation. He presses forward, lifting his hands to place them over Iwaizumi’s fists. His fingers trail back and forth over the peaks and pits of Iwaizumi’s knuckles; feeling the soft skin against his.

Iwaizumi meets Oikawa’s advances, leaning in as well and tilting his head into the kiss. Oikawa’s hands over his own practically dwarf him in size, but he couldn’t care less—not now anyway. There’s always time to be unnecessarily peeved with his team captain turned boyfriend later. For now, he decides slipping his tongue into that sharp-witted mouth is sufficient. His breath is warm as he opens his mouth, pressing into Oikawa’s with no resistance. Lips work against each other in slow, languid, careful movements; feeling, tasting.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes the name in the short instances where their lips and tongues meet air; short pulses of rest before moving together once more. “You’re…you’re really good…at this. Your tongue is everywhere.”

Iwaizumi merely replies with a small grunt; a solid throaty noise that sends shivers up Oikawa’s spine, raising hair on his forearms. As if by sheer instinct, he scoots even closer; climbing a bit clumsily atop of Iwaizumi’s lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. In response, Iwaizumi’s strong arms slip around his lower back, pulling him in flush against his chest; heartbeat to heartbeat, thudding strongly until one becomes the other.

“H-hold on,” Oikawa pants against wet lips. A whole body shiver wracks through him now when Iwaizumi’s hands slide down his back, grabbing his ass firmly. “You’re _way too_ good at this, Iwa-ch—” His voice stops when Iwaizumi’s teeth take hold of his bottom lip, tugging slightly before letting it loose. His mouth lingers there, tongue slipping out and lapping once at the reddened skin. His narrow eyes, once staring satisfied at his good work, now dart up to Oikawa’s stunned expression. “You—you bit me!”

“Are you going to narrate everything or can we move on?” Iwaizumi lifts his thick eyebrows and tilts his chin up in question. His hands give Oikawa’s rear another hearty squeeze, earning a small jolt from his boyfriend in his lap.

Oikawa’s pink cheeks flush even deeper as his brow knits and his shoulders haunch. “I’m supposed to be the one with experience here, not you!” he complains.

“Making this into some sort of competition, shithead?”

“And what if I am?” Oikawa leans back a little, glancing at his boyfriend with a playful grin.

“Then prepare to lose,” Iwaizumi lifts a hand now and gives Oikawa’s forehead a solid flick before grinning too. He takes Oikawa’s chin in his hand, tilting it toward him to press another, much more aggressive, kiss to those enticingly plump lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> お久しぶりです！  
> fun fact, when Oikawa says nice kiss instead of nice kill that was an actual typo I had while writing so I just included it into the story because yolo.   
> I have never written iwaoi before so this was a bit of a challenge for me. no matter how many times I came back to this it just felt wrong(?) or lacking. Idk. but I figured its been long enough since the last update so I should just post it!!  
> Hope you enjoyed these silly boys as much as I did!


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